silent the twisted logs broke upon the shore
the endless crashing once peaceful, lines the horizon

It was the darkness she walked toward. It was always the darkness

Those places where the waning light distorts shapes into ghostly trees

Fiends and devils haunt you there

Squinted eye seeks definition never found along the edges of life. It’s mystery calls

through with glimpses from past dreams and the sleep of the dead, disjoint, now lost

And wandering. They have their own names. Like the secret names of cats that can never be spoken. 

The universe sighs. 


  • photography James Whitlow Delano