So even the rain knows you are beautiful
and comes here
for you to watch,
throwing itself towards hell for you.
Our steps are cleansed,
& our spirits returned,
Falling
from
The gentle,
slaughtering mist
Towards the grey slush
of meadow roads.....
Birds find the sky,
& flee.
it is become Dismal, threatening
& lost......
earth also mourns,
this moment,
not touching the curve of your thighs
or of your mouth.
-----
What is breath,
& trust...?
what is this distance,
when you
are the horizon,
--- This soft distance of rain,
this wind,
and where it is from.
You are more
tender than God,
unless God is tender through you,
with the deft, incredible language
of your fingers, your kiss
& the wisdom
of
your mouth &
your tongue.
-----
In the morning,
after love,
The sun & I
will roar & Cry our love for you
(still,
rising....)
& the air, I am sure
will sing with you
you are full,
giving all songs...
and therefore all songs
are us.
* * *
There is light, failing...
a field,
hidden, where rain
is.
& the river, ripping past graves,
& the worn stone...
The terns
are exhausted...
the pelicans turn to silhouettes.....
& the gulls?
the morning
imparts a sustenance
to them.
Noon causes dimness,
& Firs grasp after a hard, stretching
Wind.
husks.
straw.
& warmth
still,
where you held my hand,
& held me.
-The great antidote
is air,
& the finishing sunlight,
consuming us...
full of a new, incredible flesh...
* * *
