i.
Since dusk, I’ve not been the same.Please don’t ask me about terms,I’d only say what I know, never enough.
All the pages hidden in all the forestsAwait a word that will remainWhen the trees are gone. And now?
Now nesting takes precedenceAs prelude to song.In dreams, we find the physics of desire.
Had I any sense, I’d make my bedWhere tides can’t tickle my nose.Someone else shut the light.
ii.
I feel better now.My mental checklistLies in tatters at my metaphysical feet.
Can you tell I grew up Catholic,Loved the pasty taste of the wafer,Water and wine sweet on priestly fingertips?
Guilt is the yeast of personality—Without at least a little we’d lie flat,No reason to rise. This poem
Becomes my body, and yours as well.That’s a miracle in my book.Anything less, I’d have stopped.
Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash