Awakened by owls
we emerge in the dark
like luna moths
the long trails
of our lives as transparent,
weightless, iridescent,
as the trains of our breath.
This is the overworld,
cold and reduced,
steam on the river,
sound off the water
folding in on itself,
consciousness purled
on a wall of shadows.
copyright 2010 J. O'Brien, all rights reserved
