|
Light Growing Long in the Branches, and I Think
Now, in the era of everything aching-- through, after hunger has worn thin and ceased to protect us, after desires dimmed tilted out pale lines drafted on ceiling tiles-- so many unforeseen lines on our faces, after the back gate has slammed and since quieted, long beyond sacred stains buried in the new block-- after the wet heal having contributed, after consent, and caress (having) met in the detonated careless economy of our lives, (having not) upon further thought, after again dread reconstitutes loss, blooming, you radiate strength in the shouldering shivering exiled say in days’ wait, despite cost ever-deepening. And so, immense, shade looms in rustling, later (having) felt hands to witness yet proofs of their agency, yearned bitten lips, nibbled lobes open yet learning yet thoughts and their laughters out over the vault, sprawling wild skies of tomorrow’s March: “May we labor through grief wrought by thieving elite toward triumph and feast, and night’s unbroken sleep.” |
