Easter Island

I’ve spoken with stone monuments

their shoulders gray in shrugging mist

 

Run my fingertips along grooves

hairlines in pyramid slopes

 

I’ve pursued points of light

in fleeing nebulae

 

Sailed oceans on a hewed out log

listening to dolphins clicking

 

I’ve cleared snow drifts in my mind

seeking solace from those questions

 

Here on this lonely island

perhaps I’ll find a buried answer

 

Hidden under millennia of rubble

 

Where shamans and wild-eyed prophets

once stood bare-headed watching lightning

 

Furious, I burrow deep into mounds

groping for a shard of understanding

 

Some clue, some artifact, a whisper

in all this immense

and empty vastness

 

to tell me I am not alone

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© Johnmichael Simon

2014

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