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By Ali Date: 2007 Oct 28 Comment on this Work [[2007.10.28.11.32.22768]] |
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At this distance you see nothing but silence and dark, a heavy love that speaks with an elusive tongue, a cry you can neither deny nor reason out. Still, across this gaping world I just wanted to say... I was thinking of you, and at the thought, your name burns out, having worn me out, having warned me of the clock-stop promise of this fateful reconciliation-- you know, and I know, but perhaps you have found something easier to live with. It's your foreign tongue that stuns in idleness, as I gesture carefully at this caravan of stone-horizons, a world that I have been flung into, or, perhaps, my reasons simply run too fast for the stars to keep up, and I have gotten lost, now-- I don't know. But, unexcused, silence sinks into tangibility, leaving footprints behind where nothing has walked, and there is absence raging in between what I have and what I have lost, and what had and what has lost me-- the stars tremble, and you are nowhere, but here, casually. It aches, somewhere I cannot find, some pulse I cannot place-- and a uncaught explanation falls to knees it didn't know it had, prostrate, collecting peace to exchange for forgiveness, but the dream has gone dark, its roots empty and its arms full, and I lower my eyes to see and in doing so, see you-- I cannot say, but the invisible lets out a persistent cry, and mine or yours, I don't care. I've long since let the questions fall, only to rewrite them again, a pool of comfortless truth at my feet-- I am the culprit, the lure, the privileged love and reckless lover-- I am, I am hopelessly shivering at this summit, defiant in the face of this strange abyss, like a fool who tries to break into heaven-- tired, restless, half-heaving everything into nothing, trusting you to understand what you have become-- and, loosing translated, I stammer out this sequence wrought with embellished seclusion, and this is a wreckage that can't be dissolved, and close now, a thousand marked years mean something else, alight with these sacred stars, these dark eyes and writhing expeditions, clever resurrecting fevers, an ever-expanding moment where three hours of love is made-- consider it a new religion, as you force out the old one--there is so much singing now, a lovesong from my body to yours. |