among us

he wore his hat
brim low
to keep his face
from the light

under a shadow

didn’t say much
in a voice
that sounded cracked
and dry

more a shape
than a man

drawing dark around him
like a cloak
with nothing

he didn’t say much
but if you ever glimpsed
his eyes

you’d see a fire
just waiting to burn

and you’d need to
look away
because he
is a fire

getting ready
to burn


Poem #442 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

4 thoughts on “among us

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