The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Hadean Letters

Was it Hephaestus, my dear brother,
that swung his mallot of entanglement
against the icey vacuum to fashion 
a singularity from the purity of nullality?

Whence flows forth golden rivers 
of radiance to backlight the rain
as we dance among the buttercups
and sway to cosmic vibrations
like crows among the corn.

Feels like time was born by your word,
your audacity to speak instinct 
to the blackness of the ocean,
an utterance unyielding until I am cracked
into a glitter of peppercorn dust 
between the silence of stars.
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