THE embryo’s skinny fists reach the skies
and hides a face yet born
in this summer of burning children you
call a name and the world is asleep.
the fitful swings the stuffed animals
the tired friends called warm winds
have long thoughts of buried snakes
and within the many undreamed thoughts
of a lost world the embryo’s skinny fists
tear the skies apart — the revelation
of new nails grown for 2 months that never
had a drink of the blood you spilled //
some hang their hand and drown within fear
yet, and, with unborn eyes very open, to pretend
a gently passed hand over a baby’s head —
THIN new hair that does not die, long nails
within a soft chest — licking the bloodless
wounds of survival.
The sound of the surgeon’s scalpel.
:: 06.20.2020 ::
I can see across
and your smile
always seems so fresh!
a moment in time:
we kissed beneath
the apple tree!
you took the bite (of me)
and i cried:
I shouldn’t have
torture me so sweetly,
an entire world pays our sin.
I could never say
‘no’ to you and you;
a withered reed blowing
in time. but I’m an
“unforgiven” as you are my love
but it’s good,
so good enough to see a world
birthed from this love!
Oh come toward me let’s be;
good enough. So good enough
for all of us, oh, i could
never say ‘no’ to you.
:: 02-22-2015 ::