Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into an artifice of eternity.

Saturday, May 2, 2015


~For J.H.~

Every soul's a window
God sees through,

though mine is shorn  
it looks without

to wilds and wastes
and the baiting

of the moon drawing
on the blood –

what ebbs there flows
along the years –

landscapes cleared
and bare, horizons
closing in, and seas
washing the host

of the sinking sun
down to absolution.

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