Wednesday, December 29, 2010

St. Thomas Becket

it looked like wine

spilled and fanned out

over the tiles of the cathedral.

the O of your mouth

was a window. it made me

nervous just to look into it.

I saw some words

caught in the pools

of your cheeks.

there were birds

resting in the beds

of your molars.

this room is hollow,

your eyes are still

wide open.

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