Holy Incantations --


we begin at the beginning, there
where time stops
and beggars Relapse; it
is here, in Our Eyes, that
we find
Relief; these, the Solemn days
resounding Full and Glorious -- What
manner
of Speaking is at your Command, you
who would spark
the Divine in a minute, the
vestigial
forms adhering to the Sky, a palate
Cleft awaiting surgery?

These days arrive with thunderous Appeal, our
hearts out and pulsing
through the Wound, there, where
we least expect it, there,
where scattered
icons are Supremely Felt; We,
the unpaid
Justices of an
intimate Night reflecting Purity or Waste
with Our incision must
count the days out on our Fingertips these
tipsy beings affording
us a Window
into Wine, our sullen Shadows
hoping for glimpses
of his narrow shoulders
and upheld arch:  He is

the Master Puppet here in our Surprising
brevity, our
handheld Terror one
of a quiet Child
basking in the fountain Wants
to know
your Name, you
who handled guns and bombs Now
kneeling to
the Earth to scratch the kittens' Ears -- all

laid in Precise implication of our lungs
heaving in
a lacquered breath, Replete --