6.9.10

My Face Is My Mask

without any hat
water makes me sick
and Lorraine
if you had wings
you could fly to heaven

if you just had a quarter

instead you toil up
the steps shapeless
breathing
a painful
and terrific
slowness
a soundless arpeggio

my eyes hold their breath
meaningless and sustained
the sacred tree tick-tocking
solemn and profound

and she says in her single soprano
yes Jesus! the dry pulse
of her decaying house as two tears
slide down her fallen cheeks

I see the light and I see
the word
just sound

sometime maybe
she'll hold him at the nightfall
whilst the angels singing him to sleep

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