Cardboard Box

by Anna Ruiz

hope is a flimsy cardboard box
a vortex
hovering and gaining strength
having weathered climatic changes

unearthing seasons of longing

to set free a unique universe of blooming roses —
white scents of purity and purpose

individuality is
a certain inclination towards finality
if not an outright desire hidden in
the threadbare cloak of impossibility
calculating and accumulating effects
woven in virtuosity
like the heady watchtower of denial

in a brightly coloured feathered cap
striking a stalking midnight

indivisible hands of time wantonly misplace
teepees of aloneness
gushing forth like a river
meandering in an invisible undergrowth
of thorns and broken limbs

stumbling spirits
darkly present

lovers unknown
even to themselves
in the act of abiding
enacting a frailty
offering
without recourse
without respite

emanations of the heart
along the icy shores of a Greenland
solvency
when the saga of purple
prudently hidden in structures of words
does indeed burst free the Light
anticipating Holy Dawn

inciting a quiet riot
communing with the deaf and dumb
of old and new testaments
blinding the Way of the Warrior
embraced in Eucharistic rays
of the one and only covenant —

the crown chakra
fills with nothing

save for the hopelessness of what is.

perchance to dream,
perchance a dream.