New explosions when the old ones still hang on church spires,
use us up to the eyes and ears. So we ignore. So we go and pray
in a grotto. After forgetting about lunch and then dinner. After
trading stories with the wind and learning its secret message
about death. Say and resay: this is a how you humans can find rest.
As we go belly-deep in a strangled forest, remember firestorms
seen in a lion’s eye. Follow the footprints of daughters not born,
never were or would be. Our breath fails. Our exquisite parts shake
loose, lost to the idea of being lost. As we set a fine table by the
monarch’s tomb and evening sky reveals its true face. We put all
our trust in the lightning that decorates our cheeks with chiaroscuro.
It puts our smiles are out of shape as we pretend at being boats in
a windless harbor.
