Friday, December 7, 2007

Scenes from a Reflecting Pool

I've prayed that I could find the kind of place
that separates the church and hate, but
stained glass symptoms tell the same
old stories that I've known since I was four--
Will he still bear this cross alone?

(Someone turned the fountain off;
the youth have all gone home)

I drink a draft of cleaner air than I have
tasted in two weeks, and you're not here
to share a sip with me. At least I've got
my pen and paper, drinking in the night with me;
At least I don't imbibe the air alone.

(Is this medicine,
or is this me?
Sometimes I
forget to breathe.)

Molecules meticulously marching in cohesion
as they slide across her marble curves
to do it all again; Sad to say, the water
can't escape; at least the crickets still sing me to sleep.

Cobblestones, she walks alone
Determined not to fall into the fountain;
Where's she been? Will I see her again?

July '07

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