to R.
As they had been
Like names of god
They were once
As they wore vests
They shielded me
From quiet lies
I understood well
The pulsations
Bloodied, lifeless
They were stones
The grass they touched
Burning stacks of hay
Silent rivers
Of harmless waters
Carried along
Turbulent tides
With names engraved
Ailment of dreams
Fed by absence
So distant now
On a plain of places
They await me
Their eyes so real
And the love
No longer glass
Becomes impatient
Carves out its own hands
In the stone
In which I flow
They turn into flesh
With arms
Surrounding me
In felicitous phrases
Drowning in peaceful jerks
The journeys
I am to undertake
Searching their names
On a wall that contains
All forms of hope, of unlove
You, believer
Sound asleep
The body so unsafe
A place, for the miracle
To unfold from the rows
I wish to contemplate...
Nothing else there
The chest is deaf
It desires far more
Than could the eye hold
Fingertips without arms
Find their way through the bones
Dreaming of less Christian versions
Of ourselves, freer than this simple lust
Ready to take over
To recover, at gun point
A more sterile version of love
That we could both survive
The love of proper names
Other than god's...
No comments:
Post a Comment