Salt Light
Beneath the mountain, locked in vaults of stone,
He waits alone within the crystalline,
Where ancient oceans dried to dust and bone,
And pillars carved of salt form out a shrine.
The tremor leaves his hands, his fever breaks,
The poison drains into the white salt floor;
Through dark and hollow hours his spirit aches,
For drinks that burned his throat in days before.
Yet in this tomb, a breath of salt restores
The air with quiet, prehistoric grace,
As sunlight seeps through cracks in cavern doors,
And washes clean the shadows from his face.
The salt preserves what poison would destroy,
And turns his bitter thirst to quiet joy.
October 2026