Black Mesa Landscape Georgia O'Keefe
Darkness still grips the world
with tales of deep holes,
caves dug into the skull,
empty graves waiting
rooms blackened by loss
of power as in panic we light
candles and hear the wind ripping
against trees, tearing the
sky for any sign of salvation,
and guided only by this
little light, this small rectangle
of white screen, the black letters
dancing in regular rows under my
fingers, I search this small window
for any reason to hope.
But of course
true to its endless promise, the sun
casts first glow on the outermost leaves
and the grass finds itself again and begins
its daily green glow, and I wonder why
fragile faith is so easily crushed
by night's routine lie.
