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