14.12.18 - excerpt from draft of "Letters to Saints and Prophets"
by evening_turns_to_cyan
IV. Isaiah
If ever on the moors in seeking
Zarephath she faltered—
White of gossamer and lamb—
And the well in running over
Colored bloodred clay
Lapis Lazuli, sweetened to dewpoint
As for what it meant
To those that saw and waited
Prophets and disciples of an
Instant; bear witness to the
World reborn (not premeditated)
At muddy dawn in unloved scrubland plots
Subsequent to love running sacred between
The pages of an unloved tome, a fissure
What is a truth?
Could I reach out
And touch you?
What holds your heart, Elijah?
Who can you see beneath the glass
Who stares back from the bottom of a raindrop
Flashing past before convening
With the ground?
Did you know, my dear,
I stem from the disillusionment of ground
And the resurrecting of fraught winter
Sky?
Did you know,
I am alive and dying to go, now,
To arise from Pelas and walk free in sun again?
I want to love the rain
So that it knows
I want to lavish love upon your
Lips, your hands,
Your neck that holds
Your temples, the gaps between
Your ribs, and vertebrae, and 50 billion stars