In the lull
Of our constricted voice

In the hushing
Of our sullen realm

In the finite
Of our broken hinterlands

A watermark
No, rather

A barrow
A grave

Without inscription
Only handprints

In memoriam
Of the receding surf

Never heard
Never reached

I learned
to plant the seeds
of happiness.
There are flowers
blooming
where the scars
used to be.

R.M.

I ate the cake,
        the lemonade
Cool and sweet
        but left the pain
In the back of my throat
        like an aftertaste

Shine like it does

You set the sun against me

And here I fell

Only to find my feet

Along the blinding path

To dust, the persecuting heart returned

So too, the spirit flew

And like scales

The veil lifted

And I caught sight

Of something quite intangible

Yet, therein I found true freedom

In slaving for you

As a fisher of men