by nathan martin
a chamber is a figure
if a lantern is a thought.
remarkably thin thoughts falling through
the linen minds of silk mummies.
neatly pressed cooper
filled lanterns light the way.
passage of the damned heiroglyphic
pharaoh brings shadows to life.
flickering on the corners of the walls they
pass silently like floating reeds along the nile.
a river is a choice if
clay is the beginning.
now in that still dry place tape worms are holy
and priest tend to their webs.
passage of the buried eternal eyelid scientist
wrapped in a constellation prayers and mud.