Foulke’s Voice
Magritte. Le Cri du Coeur
You leaned into
your cracks
numb.
Surrounded by voices
like old stones.
“You will fall!”
“You’re falling!”
“You fell!”
Did you?
Cloudy loneliness
permeated the cold.
Gray distorts the horizon
always.
No one noticed the exits.
Neither, did you.
Was it early?
Was it?
“Here they are!
The sources of virgin water.
In your deepest cracks.
Look!
The depths of the soul
release rising suns!
Walk with them!”
An old voice
shows you the way
like fresh wind.
You woke up.
You dared.
It’s you,
always you.
V. Kush. Flight of the Sun
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