Collect for Nostalgia Sunday

At the bottom of the sea and seldom seen
earth’s bowels begin: an enigmatic maze
whose passages volute upon each other
(lost, the traveler there).

Sickening, the sense of rushing night,
of sudden distance gone
when once the dragon’s doors are passed.

Those doors suspend upon a one-way hinge
and let no traveler back.

Lift up your heads, O gates,
and lift them up, you ancient doors.

O what can loose the fountain of this deep
and burp me up? Three days in the belly
of the whale, then I erupt. So goes the tale.

Awake, you sated sea
and bludgeon air with souls we used to be.

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