Memory

Behind the bitterness of the infinite satiation
Behind the faded lightning and the dulled rolling of the thunder
Behind the incessant beating of the sleepless drums, the shrilling of the lostness here among the lost
There lies I know
That which is still alive
Though seeming dead
Still vibrant, keen
Still alive
Though seeming dead.

And I would cleave through all this heaving swirl of life
Unto this wonder
Had I not
Even as night has day
Even as youth has age
Like, unto those who knew before me
The yoke—
Even as life has death have I
The yoke eternal.

—K.I.H.

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