not dark yet

a poem on going on in dark times

Photo by Micah Williams on Unsplash

N O T  D A R K  Y E T

What would the old ones do
if they knew darkness was coming?
I cup my hand to my ear,
waves crash against my palm,
I listen for/hear what is hidden.

When the curlew cries into the night,
remember they descend from heirs
of the fall of an ancient age of kings,
ones who also loved and lost a world…