Have you been there,
to the middle of nowhere
in the middle of the night?
The river below you is a roar,
a million palms drumming against the rocks,
or is it a million eyelids
opening you hear?
Heralds of what?
You are only here by choice,
yet they go on declaring this nothingness
while the trees, in the thousands,
are a cacophony of whispers;
the keepers of what?
And when you look up,
beyond the forest: the heaving,
screaming night sky.
Layer upon layer of
silence strikes the taut shield of your face,
casts you a pale white.
Do you understand this nowhere now?
How searing it is, burning the
back of your bones,
turning you out of your body
into these desperate silent moments of life.

Copyright Ricky Barrow 2013


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