Black Paper

this is where the edges
burn and peel
a black ravine
of dead paper
this is where
i tread
like some
ezekiel prophet
talking in my head
the great beasts turn
their wheels
the air tastes like honey
it is when the edges
turn to flakes of dust
that i dance
some ancient dance
and dream
of dense jungles
where rocks speak
and the trees chatter
where my feet
tread whole on the earth
away from the edgework of the paper...EAC