Tuesday, February 16, 2010

If I Could Start To Fly

Cyclops 296

Christ divided the lower fishes
And sent a dark prayer into the future
The flesh expects to be paid in luminosity
But the hands have their own spirit:
Flabbergasted, they fold and flutter
on an uncertain path back into the present
to the gentle end of certainty and possibility.

We let the waves of light call us
And pay our debts after which we
Look to the east and to home to friends
to carrying the water of relief
to evident flesh and a spirit of being
for our purest nature.

In this way we are afforded life and that
Wrong we desired in being.

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