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His is a cross
born of a pivot
and throw of the hip
like a dancer or
a mother lifting
her child.

Less like Christ
even in faith,
with violent intention
taking the space
of the walking prayer.

These are the arms
that fall upon bone
and through confidence;
same that shelter
their author from
those angles
he ravages.
Underneath it,
holes for air
and light
(totems of lost
meaning

like witches blood
to the wanting arms
of hand crafted
divinity).

I am lifted by
the morning's heat,
forcing the fog
from dew,
and I linger there
between earth
and mist.
Curious in contempt:

Made for
your arms,
missing selves
without touch,
before it became
distant--like
memory to age.

It could be age
that steals away
selves known
and gardens
an angry thing,
now viscous and
putrid.

It stands where
someone draped
in gold
left an imprint
in the carpet,
heavy over
flattened threads
that once
reached to heaven.

Gone like
the affection
in their own name.
Gold is soft
to the touch
and takes a form its
beholder can decide.
folly of age
not endured
but the limit
of it clear
now

respect for
idle selves,
or of waning moons
lapping at their
sightless horizon,
serves only
the sake of
itself.

petulance
was
honesty
is
frailty

patience
isn't
fortitude

as it may have been
years before.

you know too much
to act so little;
shame is yours
if you want it
(and i must have)
(would palms
run eager
to the un-wanted?)
artifice
and
nature

unwoven self
strung and dyed
and made much more
than born

by the hand,
the transparent eye.

sea bound,
ripped from the body
as new babes
from mother's chest
Black Lives Matter
there is something small
and curious
and much like
a pup

it makes me
become

i become
larger

it is only as
the grass is
to the flower's stem
Patrick Aguilar Oct 2020
Our exquisite Lady of Breath and Silence,
let our blood run clear and our lungs fill softly.
Blessed art thou who shrouds us from touch
and blessed be those whose touch shan’t find me.

Forgive me, for I am a vessel,
built upon plague and unknowing.
Have mercy on us, still my hands,
and may we gaze upon the open eyes of our elders once more.

Amen.
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