The Ancient Modern

Always to the Clouds /  Joshua Alan Sturgill                            

far above is Fire — 
true Fire, bladeless heat — 
and far away the real Earth,
            crystalline and adamant

But I live in a brittle house
between, of mudbricks
baked in impure flames
            and every meal tastes 

of smoke and ash.  Parched
            with longing, I thirst
always for the clouds,
            always for the angels

whose homeland is the holy
            Æther streaming from 
a God of Origins.  I nightly dream
I step into the stirring

of the primal Water — true Water,
             stingless cold — in that season
when they descend. Exiled,
I dream of angels

lucent, armoured and arrayed;
            who labor effortlessly 
above the heavy air of this
            deceived, deceptive world

All poetry and supplementary material: copyright 2022 by Joshua Alan Sturgill. All rights reserved.

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