Poet:
Martha Kinkade

In Search of Inner Presence

Once a one-eyed man
showed me his empty socket --
an abandoned and crushed
sugar cone -- tasteless in its discard.

Once a glazed moon --
dark and looming -- crowned
the forehead of a girl child
who'd split from my belly.

Then,
a one-eyed horse
with mane on fire
shadowed the ground.
This mare -- chestnut --
teats full of honey --
glared at my imperfection
as my hands dug
a makeshift grave --
sand fell upon sand.

Is there nothing --
but this swallowing
whirlwind?