Sunday, April 26, 2015

Beneath a Sun that Blood Offers


You’ve lived long enough
In the desert of a stranger’s mind

You walk through a yellow door
And enter a garden of seven wells

There is a lavender meadow
Where mossy pines dream
The silk cheek of a valley

There is an off-kilter sky
Of lavishly carved clouds—
Smoke thick from the heart

And there is the white 
Desert of a stranger’s face
The scarred rim of his mouth

A hole in the air between you
A hole filled with the mute
Sulfur of stifled words

Maybe you will pour
Your moist voice down his dry throat

Maybe you’ll invent a lipstick
Like Chinese poetry when a leaf falls


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