Poem: Luray Caverns
At seven I ponder a stalactite
as an icicle, too callow to fathom
a million year marvel, modernity
a squirming embryo in the wet womb
of its acid etched mother.
When they turn off the lights
I grasp for your hand.
At seven I ponder a stalactite
as an icicle, too callow to fathom
a million year marvel, modernity
a squirming embryo in the wet womb
of its acid etched mother.
When they turn off the lights
I grasp for your hand.