Friday, October 25, 2019

I will pound on your foul sepulcher
until the doorway's decorations spring forth,
carving with broken bone the form
it was once mine to adorn,
coloring plumes that come
from the dark blood,
the vein of mercy.

Threads of upheaval from
the mercury core,
searching river of deepness.
Blankets of time and fog
making the sacred phrases
swoon with emptiness
a rutted bough.

No comments: