We
broach mortality, those last hours, at reaper concerns.
—or
holy salience by deep ocean repentance while crowded by loneliness; such
opacity so refilmed in eyes traveling picture-museums; to cry dryness to
fertilize deserts in such a rush to refrain; surrounded by wilderness, coached
by sadness, if but one more almanack—
Our last datebook our
filthy diary where guilt is heavy; those hours by contrition, or a meditative
life, while family feels frantic; so unreleased or so uncomfortable or at such
alarming peace.
This
station by fire, this interim so vigilant, with measurements and rulers.
Into sweeter music our
cores by beliefs where many are in wonder: The New Jerusalem, into a Second
Coming, where such controversy has hit our ears.
Our
wars inside those lakes by purgatorial flames or something our bodies called
into clouds; or transmigration
or
incarnation
while
fettered and worried depending deeply into meadows;
our
foreign containers those herbs with spices or this dire resurrection;
to
have come by flesh even bones and so vulnerable.
Clocks are so immediate
the whisper of those hands while dreary pawing our sanity.
—so
determined to have lived
so
with courage to have stayed
into
something like a vortex—
those final smiles those
last kisses our eyes closing one last dimension.
“I have sought the
greatest in many. I have delivered the best in me. I relinquish this earthly
habitat.”
Into
orbit this fair belief or returning to sediments; such tillage’d grounds such
farming reality such delicate souls; to have cultured relatability to have
nurtured charity or to have tended both widows and orphans; to have fought the
fight in accordance to those instruments at something proving difficult to
efface; those awesome lights cased in brilliant darkness to receive answers
oiled by insistence; ashes and dust, or coffin and grave, while many conjure
the best our lives.
