by stanley wilkin
WHEN STRANGERS MEET
In the deep, uncertain night the strangers met,
Unseeing, unknowing, unthinking-dulled brain and senses,
Through the porous shadows and tangled foliage they crept
Stumbling over fallen trees and broken-down fences
Their hatred binding them, like interdependent trees, root to root,
In the cold light of the blistered, embedded moon;
Rotten barks covered in fungi, dried twigs cracking underfoot;
Reaching the village outskirts collectively they emitted an exultant moan
And stumbled on. Slow breezes drifted over their flesh, sun-driven
Investigative fingers inspecting their souls, medicating pain.
The floating wheat touched them as they passed, restoring fission,
Their fears gliding away in the quietly-falling rain.
Striving through the bluster of life, together or apart,
We return to where in life we first made a perfect start.
Last updated September 29, 2015