In Search of Inner Presence

Once a one-eyed man
showed me his empty socket —
an abandoned and crushed
sugar cone — tasteless in its discard.

Once a glazed moon —
dark and looming — crowned
the forehead of a girl child
who’d split from my belly.

Then,
a one-eyed horse
with mane on fire
shadowed the ground.
This mare — chestnut —
teats full of honey —
glared at my imperfection
as my hands dug
a makeshift grave —
sand fell upon sand.

Is there nothing —
but this swallowing
whirlwind?