The Wall

Shall the night lay splayed, wide;
its legs, a face, a companion to
the body's light and dark. Such
tenderness a heaven to its spire,
a tower of thickening grapes. Quick
and changed the beautiful turns itself
towards violence; who calls its name
carries secret scars. And I am privy
to the knowledge of its hidden fury
just as those whose hearts are filled
with blood. Where I come from, where
you are- a wailing wall.



One day, the fog lifted; against my bones
a nameless weight let go, floating away
like a winged phantom disappeared. How
strange, the immortal soul like dust
gliding idly, without skill or emotion.

Shall we agree the heart is large, burdened?
It burns and burns the substance inside it
before its gone, the source of its existence
darkened, charred. There is a bird, they say,
born from the fire, the color of sunrise.


More Stone

It is an impulse that grows stronger,
the urge to escape. It is the protest,
a prisoner speaking out who says:

"smuggle my soul through the gate;
split my heart in many directions".

They followed with brutality unlike
any attack that marked the beginning
to an end, their first thoughts-

peace is a funeral, the mourners
become the prize. In the cemetery
the wounded grow weaker, smaller,

less human more stone.