Always rocks and bones and God
the soul admires; steadfast things.
Never fathers or the nature of water
which constantly changes. This life
hangs tenuously, fastened between
like hinges of a sagging door;
our bodies stretched and beaten by
the ailment of our endless search.
I want to know the moment you accept
your weakness, unguarded as the dozing birds,
faraway and breaking like the anguished
stars who slowly fade and disappear.