Oh
the sunshine, to melt the ice,
floating
through feathers; to die your
glacier,
to pray your name, as torn
as
Sufi wounds. Oh to tug, pulling
for
thriving a scar; and god heard, to
go
deeper, to bungee jump a heart;
to
fury through channels, a need to
grace
your presence; for love asked—
of
parachute wisdom, as born as
childbirth. I promise this lot: it’s
not
for hate, the disdain of actions.
So
try to breathe, a Tao life, a
streamlet
of
prose;
where orphans cry, the poor
perish,
the captive wail; to see your
soul,
filtered in scars, a whale to
carry. I imagine weight, a mother’s
addiction,
drilling through
membranes;
were a goddess called,
to
shift the powers, a force of
torments;
for souls can see, the width
of
pain, churning through centuries.
I
love you flying, for dying the same,
the
kiss of ether; to thread a tunic, to
grab
the hem, as healed as more
wars. I can’t forsake want, albeit,
adrift,
pulling at several forces; for
dare
I see, the course of wounds, to
know
for your childhood; where
deeper
the night, to tiptoe darkness,
swarmed
suddenly.
