Kevin Keane (5.28.06)

Monday Morning, 5 a.m.

under a sullen sky
you make this barren house
your lover, doors whining
in the wind─
and search for a dream that would
erase the armies of hate
and swallow up the night
and hug the relentless
infinity of waves
and light


─by Kevin Keane





Prehistory

Silence is silver,
shifting chrome reflecting
dreams grasped by the eyes
Up on green hills the wind
speaks in mute syllables
born before language cried
out after the womb.


─by Kevin Keane