I hear the call of the breeze
and the Stillness

I feel the fracture of the bone
the agony of the wooden table
the caress of the dove
the heartbreak of being Loved completely
and broken into pebbles

I see the parade of minnows and stars
and those who don’t love animals or children
these eyes, these eyes
stagger under the shroud of Sorrow

is the air thick
or is it clean and fresh?
diamonds in the rough
sparkling gemstones covered up
by detritus
raging Love among the icicles
among the bonfires
among the beatings with a large stick

all my days spent elsewhere
all my sorrow already lived

the tenderness of the newborn babe
the scratchiness of the old man
the creaky bones broken
their marrow a river
fertilizing the garden
destroying the known life
there is only Magic left
and the sorrow of the adult’s life
that follows the child’s

how am I to live without a map?
how am I to live without an anchor?
my boat rocks on the agitated sea
I will surely drown
in the waves that are over my head
I will surely be lost in the bosom of Silence
where at least I can suckle
where at least I can take in
the Warm Brilliant Milk
no different than the cockroach babes
where at least I can be Resurrected
the wailing transformed into sweet melody
the writhing into a sacred gambol