Going Dark “To know the dark, go dark.” – Wendell Berry I am in the night place where more dark exists for opened eyes than closed and silence pushes into the ears. Here fire is a tongue. I have held fire, have followed the lipped contours of a riverbank in search of the mouth from which it pours. Now I kneel down, to grope my way. The ground is trembling. If I wake from here, into a bright, loud world, I will be mute and visionless. Now I reach through throated black to feel where I am and I touch surprising water which speaks in the palm of my hand. —by Liza Hyatt Bio: Liza Hyatt is the author of The Mother Poems (Chatter House Press, 2014); Stories Made of World (Finishing Line Press, 2013); and Under My Skin (WordTech Editions, 2012). She plays the Celtic harp, and in public performances of her poetry, she often accompanies herself the harp, bardic style. She hosts a monthly poetry reading/op
Flying Island is the Online Literary Journal of the Indiana Writers Center, accepting submissions from Midwest residents and those with significant ties to the Midwest.