I lay on the closed-lipped earth,
Reaching downward toward a heart
So deep beneath I thought that part of me
Had broken off, had sunk, awoken
In some wet cave, some dark corner,
Or been rendered suddenly asleep—
Laid in a grave with no stone and no mourner.
I’d been sure the collateral of the hurt
Surrounding me was veiled only
By uncompleted sorrow, failed misery,
Refusal to accept a troupe of wounded
Whose footsteps fell in close proximity.
But your pale arms, parted lips
Persuaded me to wake. I stood watch
On hilltops, counting blossoms, seeds
And leaves. I ate nothing, drank your skin.
Sum the silver joy that drips from trees,
You said—and winnow shade from light.
It is wrong what you do, with tears
A bitter smile and your ecstasy a blight.
Come with me. Leave the barrow deep—
Seal it up with dirt and stone.
Tell everyone you used to walk alone
With footsteps droning in an morbid march.
We wander with our hands entwined, we come
Together, fall apart when our sorrow dies.
The rhythm of the world (its love)
Engulfs the earth—a flood, a sigh, a breath.
Drying tears and mastering our grief,
It drives the ecstasy into our very blood
And quiets wounds that slumber far beneath.
EJR
