Raven And Ghost
i saw her eyes as dark and anxious constrictions;
a gaze conceived in the throat of a wolf,
in the moment before wet muscle
pushes the howling through.
her smile danced with the torment of locked memory
as she pressed mirrors to my icy tomb,
where i could see, in quick flashes beneath cold fog,
my child lips flailing wishes on the corpses of dandelions,
hoping as their flower white ghosts floated skyward,
that they would send my child lamentations to their gods,
but the gravity of uncertainty drew me to my knees,
where i envisioned the world a vulturous void,
for which my body was a falling through.
from her wordless tongue there came a sound
like the tolling of a distant bell,
meant only to be heard by the corpse and the fetus
in the moment before their lungs are overwhelmed.
here my fettered uncertainty has languished
like a prisoner horrified at his open cage,
who mistakes the caress of a ravens wing
for the dragging tease of a whip
across the cheek of the infidel.
now, blistering by wounds drawn by fire,
i arise raw and charred by ash and to bone,
love has rendered me a monster in that holy fane
where men make gods from the blood of the mire,
where love makes itself as thin as a line
and then writes
itself in stone.