Almost Antelope

Nearly a morning taken —

a narrow deserted land.

Not a portrait – an awakening.

In fact, the shade elicits day —

even more, stars light at night.

Nature holds an open hallway —

while outdoors echoes green.

Thick crusts and steep ravines

recall each little gone grain.

Beyond, the page is flat – hewn

of rock – stones displacing water.

Caves own crystals — all means

of inviting tighter sensations.

In the old way, nobody travels

outside for this purpose. Unlit,

cracked cards and turnstiles

exhibit closed experiments.

Sandstorms reassign time —

translate deepest work slots —

for those not yet entertaining.

Still, umpteen light-shafts reach

out over unseen canyons’ floors.

. . . . .

Poet: Susan Powers Bourne
Source: word.camera translation
Process: Erasure and remix