here let us chronicle the
futile detonations
of the Rose
in every age, the same
who is standing guard
oh stand with me on this
bridge of air on the sharp blade
of a world-wide
intake of breath suspended
only don't look down-
take my hand
don't take my hand
it doesn't matter
in the country of Benazir
the heart of the Rose is
shattered again
the heart of the word
a golden script signed off on
mid-sentence
a math problem for the more astute;
how many armies would it take to defend her
and:
if such a heart could not be defended,
what are these garrisons for
let the stars collapse inward
to gather ebbing light
for the rose is broken
from the Stem we
occupied unbelievable space
as the shadows in your eyes darkened
prefiguring death
unbelievable space as
the heart of the Rose stood still
at close range
not at close range?
it doesn't matter when
even at a distance we
hear the ripped mantle of
weeping
as though it were in the next room
take my hand
do not take my hand
I would fall from this
bridge of air, alone
or lean into the wind from
the high tower of sorrow
to learn your radiance
let these frail
improvisations endure
the wide-world over
the soul is sovereign over
every terror
the soul that loves in the face
of death
blaze and blaze on
Benazir
mary angela douglas december 29-31, 2007 11:28 a.m. 12/31/07
No comments:
Post a Comment