Torch Song

Ron Koppelberger

Torch Song

Ascertaining the vicinity of secret, forwarded graineries and refined minds in escort he tried to persuade the ocean tide, the spectacle of quick swallows and an exhausted calm; the truth lay in his still shadow and the silhouette of the wolf, all told by tabloos in saffron desire and inhalations of sea salt, moreover the torch song of sinless wings and willful prayers.
He found the harvest under the sun and blue skies, eternal in waves of grain and bloom; he found his center at the pass between stones and wheat, endless sovereign wheat.
The man absorbed the flittering memory and shortened the distance between alters in glass and bone dust ransom. He honed the quest and revived his sweet Amabilis, the city lay ahead and in dark unformed illusion, the city sorrowing the dream in souls of fire, Amabilis in rags and tattered closeness. He would venture closer to the shapeless future with a hunger for destiny. There would be tears and ornate pitiless fire. He managed the difficult vagabond kinship between sand and asylum, between awakenings and clouds of enormous length. He considered all four points returning again to the fields of saffron and wheat. They called out in silent advance, the fires and the angels, they said straight in clandestined passion and he continued that way toward his exiled princess.