A Shrine Kept Holy Somehow
For L.A.

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by Eric Scott Bloom
©July 2OOO

...and suddenly, I caught the soft, yet sharp
gleam of the object, as it stood half-burried
in the multi-colored sands...
I approached it slowly, appearing wondering, yet knowing
all the while; what it was,
and who it belonged to...

...in its thunderous silence, it breathed like
a sun, just escaped from the chains of its
firmament's ascending cradle...
...a song, sweeter than the birds,' and holier than
the wind's, rang out; through, and past my grasp,
surely beyond the bowing waves' Autumnal tides...

...conscious of all Light & Dark at once,
she followed the spray into somewhere else, once more.
a whole epoch of time, cleaved by her sullen aparition;
breaking the hold on submissive atmospheres and orbital justice...
cathedral lights drowning her shadows,
her truest love hidden
by the misting diffusion of her painted glow,
made me think to remember the shade's sway
that part of a jolt; a shiver to the core
of her dream-like vistas and gale odes...

from shore to celestial edge, and
beyond Her ripened Visions,
a sound too modest to bend the leaves,
rang out in quivering echos, visible still to
morning's eyes...

...and as I passed the object in mock defiance,
my hand itself reached out
to lift the apron of her Memory;
a parallel dimension where a candle stood, dying; lighted...

...then strange, retreating, honey-combed
orbs whistled like trains, past the curving
skydome. A last hommage to
our travelling prayer...

...breaking into choruses of
shifting, nestled air.

Not even the grandest love could
change our past...as calm as ardor,
as brief as Forever...
©2000 Eric Scott Bloom
and ToolShedArts Ltd./EpiGothic

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