Saving Ache to Word –

here, at the end of the line,

we feel

the instant pressure of

your breath

on our lips we Now

hear

first in our deafness last in Our awareness

these days baked under

an unremitting Sun You have

arrived, quiet

Girl

unfathomed and shipwrecked in

this petty Storm our Eyes

like minnows

darting

around your ankles, this Church

is the Church of Sun

and Mount, grass

and dirt, rocks, moss, spleen, hoary

Sacrifice of a jesus

grown Old with wear and Sudden

intimacies – We

can embrace you here, delicate One, you

with the underpinnings of Remorse, tragedy

struck you low and whitehaired

the shock of metal twisting cars colliding wheels

upturned the cab of the

truck bent sideways as they extricate

the quietly breathing forms

who will die on the roadside this

is how we see death the last glimpse

of a young girl, a stricken man

curled around a fir tree

in the cruel ice of Winter – We

who await in the Shallow water of a

southern lake are itching

to play the saxophone, be-bopping our

interstices blasted

with moment and the Solace of

a singer in the Shower

hope and reconciliation beckoning

out to Sea

where we can spin Glass

and blow heraldic bursts on a conch shell

calling out to

those who care to Listen; these

intricacies of Self and Spirit symbiotic

here in our tunneling

through musty caves and layers of

moss the degradation of the Senses, the

blind Ogres and

bilious brujos skeletal with sideways intent

here make us suffer long antiquated lines

of bleeding Verse

the Coitus of page and poet

ungoverned

by any Instinct; these

are the shallow intemperate Shores just

asking for naked bodies

to succumb to its

far reaches aiming with gulls

in the sky

for tomorrow’s Tempest – if we

could drag the ocean floor we might

find half-heard ecstasies of

power and Submission – our muscled

backs glisten with

saltwater and seaweed we who would

walk the trail of tears would

tear down Hadrian’s Wall we are the

sprites and dryads

unhinged with hilarity our Worship

in step with

the swaying of the Willow our

caveat pulsing

with accident -- this Night

a glowing Purse --