Life With Horace

poetry & essays

black hole hollow


ordinary dirt with ruts
this road winds down
to swaddling trees
restrained by boulder walls
stone guarding stones
upright story flags
pocked with black moss flecks
lichen crumbling scratchy
under finger tips
shallow letters with
bare bones accounts
I want to know
the face the runes
and numbers represent
his life was short
did he know love
or solitude
while free to live
above despite
hard scrabbled days
if not him whose
heart still glows
coals flinging out
the half life rays
that drew me here
to hollow’s end?

a cemetery and its road on the New York – Vermont border.

Author: Life With Horace

poetry & essays

4 thoughts on “black hole hollow

  1. I love the question that ends the poem, underscoring the title theme, and the mystery of a life’s residual light felt across the black hole of time and death. You evoke an atmosphere I have felt in such “hollows,” especially in New England.


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