POUI | CAVE HILL JOURNAL OF CREATIVE WRITING

“As you say, friend Groth! How now, noble Keeper, may we not pass?”

Wordless, the towering Cherub stood aside, and the Gate

began

to

said Groth “hate this part” said Groth

strange things to one’s perception of time and spaception of time and spaception of time and

space

time

space

into great silence

heart of light

sinking, stars like mud

box of aeons

( the universe is in here with me )

chasm

infinity, filled with emptiness

then wind

leaves and planets swirling

A world, a face

Red beard — stone underfoot — pulse in the palms of my hands.

I drew in a deep breath through my nose, like one awakening from long reverie.

“Friend Groth. . . welcome to Earth.”

67

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