The clockwork
of my beating breast has failed,
The hands of
time are sharpening their swords,
While fiction’s
father tempts me to his hordes
And to his wheel
my wrists and feet are nailed.
Unconscious of
the process of recall
I speak an oath
verbatim from your tongue,
A curse not heard
this side of Jacob’s rung.
To make the leap
a man must take the fall.
Such fury, though
germane, was poorly aimed,
This half-cocked
rage was only half my sin;
A promise broken
from the outside in
Is no more wrong,
no less a blessing maimed.
I dreamed a final
dream of you with wings,
Out there beyond
the range of mouth or hand,
No word, no touch,
no sight of where you land.
Does love deserve
the loss of all these things?
Here lies my
faith in you, a tomb to share.
With sinew stretched
and muscle at full might
My blood was
all in vain to take that flight.
My body’s
bound and grounded by this prayer.
