Saturday, March 27, 2010

St. John Damascene

you see that curve of cheek? the way the light

skates so smoothly across that halo?

this face does not deserve to be


to have its pieces scattered across

a grocery store parking lot.

instead, we could allow the gold to be

what it was meant to be.

you sigh like an old Kipling poem.

we could tear the forsythia blossoms

from the branches?

put this gold next to our bedside,

pretend it is holy.

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