Occult



if I ask, will the rains bring you

along the river sprung from arcane texts of magic

that blessing overflow of more then I know or understand

Will you descend if I wait along the banks of the city

or come back again poorly disguised, an old Greek beggar at the foot of the Acropolis


we commune in séance by the tossed ocean that steps back from us breathing as the world shifts on an axis realm of sudden morning


if I whisper will you hear

above the santanic din of the coliseum amusements

the only promise granted by an empire of nonchalant  

violence

with only a Shepard to witness our spirits barely escaping in the

easy impossibility of

that

life in a glance

when the stars blink    -once


twice


and disappear