The God Of Hindsight
Speaks From His Cave
By Marjorie Power

You never know, You're not supposed to.
I move in reverse, wearing a second face
on the back of my head.  This less obvious
visage wears animal masks.  I'll appear
as an eagle, or perhaps a wolf...
From the scent of the swaying firs--
that stand you pretend is your own cathedral--
I breathe my way deep into your gut.
I join you in your next misstep.
I bend to touch the ground
of your original wound.  Here
I plant rhododendrons, and trillium.

From Cave Poems published by
Lone Willow Press in 1998