Today's poem is by Daniel Y. Harris


From the gate, another gate behind
it, and behind that nothing, gutted

chasm with debris receding in the
dark, to rumors of light, to a vowel,
a long slow drift of words to rapture,

coming along the world's edge over
air and sky, like the faint music of

ancestors who tell us everything we
know and nothing we remember,
behind this gate, near and far, until

talking stops, never looking down
or back, or through, to see the one

undivided place that stands between
us and a gilded arc reaching back
into chained haltings of grasp.

Copyright © 2015 Daniel Y. Harris All rights reserved
from The Underworld of Lesser Degrees
NYQ Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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