Fortressed and alone, drifting into
Passages furbished by safeness. . .
asylum for
The within and the without.
Ever wary of even one infinitesimal
Push to detect the depths,
We talk in superfluities and trivialities.
No one breaches the bastion. . .
No trespass into the vexed soul
Encompassed by a defending heart. . .
Just as wedding bands
Enclose more than mere fingers.

A singular resplendent night of the soul,
Rent and lacerated
As flesh torn by falcons,
Raised the bastion. . .
Like rocks,
Piled vast-innumerable as sands duned by sea winds;
Impervious to questors, virtuous or no,
In the bastion
We never realize 'tis aloneness inside of this stillness we have become.

Two walls fronting,
The safe ones never embracing
The sameness of the other:
They will collapse into themselves like
Ocean waves cresting,
Then crashing to the sea floor
Taking all inside itself.

Nancy Hill © August 1998