That She Is

He carries his Sylph
one flight up, further
than his dream had
landscaped, by
seams and stitches,

a creation grows.
Creator, with his silver air
occupant, of matter, of time.

The Sylph snags
arid scaffolding on the way; scolding
brazen bricks, wrapping
sick elapsed silk strands
around
lifeless tower necks.

Her languid limbs stretch,
every catch ripping her
silver lures, bragging
that she is,
that she is!

And he climbs above
architecture; speaks
of the slight
that she is,
that she is!

And he climbs above weight,
above birth,
above death….

silk strands unravel
as he speaks,
of love,
of life,
of broken roads ago

as silk strands go
so do apologies,
and he speaks of milk and water,
white rice,
voids…

that she is,
that she is!
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In God We Trust

I’ve been digging through past lives for
months, searching
for fingerprints
in five feet, eleven inches of

deceit dust covering everything
I know! How many times did he shed his skin
back here?  Dead parasites are proof!

He was on the roof when it caved.
Climbed  over four hundred days
with water and
a bible.

He left spoons and mattress burns below him,
tribe familiars blossomed following his climb,
extending gratitude,
tribute!

And he climbed, praising God, until he reached
Grace,
humble resiliency…

We sang!
We cried and we sang!
We wrapped our hugs in packages with golden bows,
throwing them to a skeptical world! We danced, twirled
through moon phases, a
fantastic celebration!

Then, a sharp raucous!
Brusque thunder crushing eardrums!

Blood poured from our ears
as the noise devastated. Bible pages
fell like confetti over
our joy; a tearful,
thick pollution!

We cried!
We fell and we cried!
We wrapped our memories in boxes with golden locks,
sealing them, our treasures. Silently, we
remembered, our Requiem,
a tribute!

All we know is that he climbed,

and that underneath five feet, eleven
inches of his dust, it is

in God that we place our
rusted
trust.

The Boy By The Pond

I found him by a pond,  he was  fishing for
gold. I had  no interest in
his endeavor, just his pretty smile.
He told me later that he
did pluck his treasure
that day,  hidden deep within the water.

 When I asked him what  it was, he only
smiled and laughed,  then took my
hand, kissed  my cheek
and took me for a walk.
We traveled up and up for what seemed  like
forever.  Climbing jagged rocks
through a blizzard,  the wind screaming at  me
to ascend no further.

 The sharp boulders sliced open  my knees,
threatening my balance,  my insides
started to freeze…I stopped in my spot, slid my
hand out of his.
I warned him that he was climbing to high;
he must stop! But he trudged on; claiming that
he could reach the top
and told me just to watch him!

 I knew what was coming, it was too much to
bear, so I turned my cold back on him
as he kept climbing, I began my descent
without him.
Two  days later, they found him dead.
Swollen like  a twisted ankle, as purple as a bruise.

 It’s been some time now, since I climbed
down that mountain
but my insides are still un-thawing.