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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
© Johnmichael Simon
2014
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