Tag: PSALM 117:21-22

Where is there a Lodge
Of Master Markers,
Who’s moon-body has surfed
Beyond this already-traversed marble?

Is it from the east?
Is it to the West?
Could it be farther South,
Or even closer north?

Could the albatross
Have already flown across,
Leaving the mariner’s quiver

Cursed by the motion

of the old man’s pointing finger?

Continue reading “Masters are No Longer.”