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Three Years (for Sarmishta)
If I can love you but one way
let these words encircle you
as the ocean covets an island, wrapping
around, coming ashore with the moon.
The world howls in our ears
and we have no choice but to listen,
letting the curses and tears slip
into us, flooding every cell
with the overwhelming sanctity of life.
We are crushed into silence, calculated
and demonic to those who do not see,
grasping for the rope of truth
as it swings above us
in its frayed pendulum time.
Or we sink our teeth into the earth
to let her know we are here.
And if we dig for the twisted
roots of circumstance to feed
our hunger, can we be sure
their bitterness will not assuage
our own pain, leaving us
naked and alone in the face
of the desperate will of Man?
We will dig nonetheless.
The moon climbs above us,
inching through the thick ocean air,
setting the tides aflame with
the primal urge of want.
Now I must draw the line between us
and let the water pull me out
into its bone numbing maw,
your bright eyes lost to the night.
Three years is not long enough
for the metamorphosis of a muse,
but the wisdom I know to be mine
whispers to me for patience.
No frozen sea of want
can keep me from your shores.
Look for the bearded man, icicles
in tow, to crash through your door.
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