A Processional with MePhones

From an idea suggested by Anthony Germain,
The Duke of Suffix after the Order of Scrabble©™

In greeting students on their way to class
One speaks only to the tops of their heads
As they process in ‘tudes of ‘umble prayer
In silence each bowing to her small god

(Or “his” as the gendered pronoun might be)
Speaking to no one, detached from the world
Navigating as does the sightless bat
By strange sensations known only to them

One ‘phone, one soul – that is the ratio
And each dull brain stilled ever in statio

The winter is slowly killing her
and me
but on the deck by her side
at the low tide
the river at three is a sparkling glass
feeding a belief
there would be no end of us.

in the landscape of you
I am a wandering soul
with but my words
                for protection
as I make you my goal
in the expanse of your vista,
I wear the cloak of our depth
your heartbeats in mine
as we breathe
           the same breath
I feel your rugged peaks,
your valleys that sink
your core's wildflower essence
that stains me with ink
I bathe in its fragrance,
a tattooed poet's imprint
in the primal spheres in my being
enveloping my core
all the clearer
          for seeing

and when your rough
                 tempest storms
are afar, yet in view
I dive straight to
                  their center
into the magnet of you
for
     I will water your deserts
infuse fresh creeks
                        in your dry
I will run through your forests
as I call to your wild
as I straddle your cliffs,
festoon your tundra
             with blooms
steam will rise from
                your earthcore
and fill up my womb
Through the dew on our lashes
through my lava that flows,
the stars in your eyes
make my universe glow

these geographic measures
                                 I take
as you let me inside
our bloodstreams merging
as we get lost in the tides
electric pulsed woodlands
that spread iced wildfires
slaking the loops
  of floodgates' desire
and I will hold you together
if you fall, torn apart
bonded forever
in this map of our
                    hearts

Darkness blankets
the sky,
and the
w  i  n  d
gains a
voice
by r u s h i n g
through the leaves.
Droplets
of stardust
f
a
l
l
onto my head.

This
untamed wilderness
is ironically calming;
it's like looking into a
mirror.