in making Marjorie god hurried
a boy’s body on unsuspicious
legs of girl. his left hand quarried
the quartzlike face. his right slapped
the amusing big vital vicious
vegetable of her mouth.
Upon the whole he suddenly clapped
a tiny sunset of vermouth
-colour.  Hair. he put between
her lips a moist mistake, whose fragrance hurls
me into tears,as the dusty new-
ness of her obsolete gaze begins to.  lean….
a little against me, hen for two
dollars i fill her hips with boys and girls.

The star-filled seas are smooth tonight
     From France to England strown;
Black towers above Portland light
     The felon-quarried stone.

On yonder island; not to rise,
     Never to stir forth free,
Far from his folk a dead lad lies
     That once was  friends with me.

Lie you easy, dream you light,
     And sleep you fast for aye;
And luckier may you find the night
     Than you ever found the day.

"So careful of the type?" but no.
From scarped cliff and quarried stone
She cries, "A thousand types are gone:
I care for nothing, all shall go.

"Thou makest thine appeal to me:
I bring to life, I bring to death:
The spirit does but mean the breath:
I know no more." And he, shall he,

Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair,
Such splendid purpose in his eyes,
Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies,
Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer,

Who trusted God was love indeed
And love Creation's final law--
Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shriek'd against his creed--

Who loved, who suffer'd countless ills,
Who battled for the True, the Just,
Be blown about the desert dust,
Or seal'd within the iron hills?

No more? A monster then, a dream,
A discord. Dragons of the prime,
That tare each other in their slime,
Were mellow music match'd with him.

O life as futile, then, as frail!
O for thy voice to soothe and bless!
What hope of answer, or redress?
Behind the veil, behind the veil.

To tell any story of you I should begin with stone –
Marbles, granites, slates – in slabs and blocks so large
They surrounded the family plant like cold-faced
Soldiers, armed not to keep out, but to keep safe
The secret knowledge: how to turn function to art,
How to harvest beauty from earth’s dark home.

We could count on you to be part of our home.
After school days and weekends of shaping stone
You appeared at our table, wearing your appetite large
And wooing my sister until our brother’s blank face
(Your best friend’s cold face) blinked there was no safe
Way to have them both. Somehow, for you, the art

Was in the trying. At work, you created a new art
Cutting and carving miniature relief scenes – of home
And history and Greek goddesses in soft marble stone
Streaked pink and black – with callused hands larger
Than the finished pieces. My sister lowered her face
In refusal of that first gift.  Believing you were too safe,

She married someone else. You married, to be safe,
Someone who didn’t care to understand the delicate art
Of your labor. Soon, some chasm reached your home,
Splitting you in silence until you no longer were stone
But shards and pieces scattered at the bottom of a large
Abyss, unwhole. Your grief too hard for you to face,

You led your wife along a trail up to a rocky west face
Above a summer pool. Here, you thought, you were safe
To perfect an absolute stillness between you, a terrible art,
And somehow avenge the jagged cleavage in your home.
You struggled (the papers would later report) until stones
Slipped, hands unclasped, the space between grew large.

Like a pebble thrown, your wife’s body created no large
Ripples until shallow breath returned and she surfaced
Flailing, waving one unbroken arm to show she was safe.
But it was too late for you, whose new attempts at art
Had once again failed, and so you turned to go home
To become immovable, unreachable, a dumb stone.

At home, you recorded failures and defeats you faced
In large hurried script, writing to set forever in stone
One final success: a safe shot to the head, your newest art.

Bring down the moon for genteel Janet;
She's too refined for this gross planet.
She wears garments and you wear clothes,
You buy stockings, she purchases hose.
She say That is correct, and you say Yes,
And she disrobes and you undress.
Confronted by a mouse or moose,
You turn green, she turns chartroose.
Her speech is new-minted, freshly quarried;
She has a fore-head, you have a forehead.
Nor snake nor slowworm draweth nigh her;
You go to bed, she doth retire.
To Janet, births are blessed events,
And odors that you smell she scents.
Replete she feels, when her food is yummy,
Not in the stomach but the tummy.
If urged some novel step to show,
You say Like this, she says Like so.
Her dear ones don't die, but pass away;
Beneath her formal is lonjeray.
Of refinement she's a fount, or fountess,
And that is why she's now a countess.
She was asking for the little girls' room
And a flunky though she said the earl's room.

A cross once hung there on the scarred
stone wall.  Its outline burnished like
the shadow of a nuclear blast-
did the wooden icon perish in fire?

Crumbling igneous walls quarried from the
Tees-Exe line, mulatto stone, time as no friend.  
Tumbling ancient brick, red lumps
and shards, no good for anything.

We pick through dandelion and thistle;
a ruined keep in waning time.  You my love
are the expert, a geological feature of certainty.
I am the temporary marker.

We hold hands in this pretty ruin, this old
box of death. Roof long gone as if in a grand
gesture of soul release, as lazy grasshoppers
scratch in the evening, warm and sublime.

Gospel Heirs  

This unique clan of gospel workers consisted of a father a mother and son and daughter the origins
Reach back to Plymouth the first settlers are their forbears and from this tough stock in these end times
The lion of Judea would give birth to a lion cub his head of red fiery hair suited him well it was a mane
That pronounced to the enemy war was at hand to long the bleating of lambs had not been answered
Now all would be different Bruce Wakefield was quarried from rare marble he had hardness for battle
But inner gentleness that could sway crowds of men and women show them his heart reveled was one
Of combustible fire in the cold a world where people didn’t matter as much as the bottom line their
Frailty their inherit need of being protected an guided came to complete and utter fruition in his life it
Came from a soul that stole away in to private encounters with spiritual magnificence he brimmed he
Glowed from the inner soul that had been much with the father he gathered the residue of life made it
Of no value in so doing he was the rich depository of what was real and true it resonated among those
That wondered and were confused it was like being on a long journey arduous and moments of great
Despair but at a cross roads you met in this single life a man of autumn austerity like the season also
He brought glories colors out of darkened glens and shadowed harshness leaves would fall in the
Dooryard of the hurting they breathed in the customary silent grandeur that lay on the now brown
Grasses it was a colorful display it meant the end in one sense but a beginning in another he didn’t just
Walk about the church platform he charged forward into Hells gate keepers he put them on notice the
Way things usually are had come to an end he spoke of love but he advanced it this way through the
Building blocks of creation not just simple but the essential God repeated what he did at the beginning
Of our worlds creation in one instance he shows the breadth and depth of He who makes everything
Then nurtures it carries it on to perfection a barren piece of land to start then his greatest creation in my
Opinion he joins two through romantic drama and dreams and a little thing called love you take
Infatuation the pleasing pleasure of thoughts and smite the heart in that cosmic moment the planets do
Collide two worlds are being redefined and made into one this will be the essence of their whole lives
They build relationships they build a dwelling and then the most gorgeous ribbon of all sets it off when
their love makes a little one in distant time not believing it possible this is out done when the first
Grandbaby comes that infancy that extended love at first now gives the gift that has cherish written all
Over it and your fully awake dreams do come true when they speak to you your heart melts it’s the
Greatest trick you are this adult and in seconds you are a marshmallow if we could package and sell it
There would be no more conflicts just tell the opponent to bite smell this and in moments all would be
Fun and joy so not to leave you to sad that this can’t be the day is coming when the lion will lie down
With the lamb you’re just living its precursor you set and live among miniature wonders maybe you even
Were involved in picking out their names Bruce uses this to great effect in this swirl and hoopla you find
Your center and know the ideal of life and then the shift must occur not is all sweetness the barrister of
The wind makes the argument that this great structure this family has fissures and brokenness a young
Father told of the great pain he suffered when is son was abducted and taking into another country
By other family members he since has created a international program that visits this issue and gives
Hope to people that are helpless against governments of other nations Bruce explains this is Gods
Predicament and oh how so many more of His children are missing taking into a world that subtly woos
Them by every artifice that plays on their weakness and in those areas they have a tendency to fail the
Dark Part of a painting in art greatly needed for contrast and mood sensibility but disaster in following
And living a Godly life there are restrictions in normal living all manner of give and take that make
For happier more successful living he ends with this ultimate truth I am the way and the life all of this
Is factored in and it is of gravest concern that we act on it when we hear it and that night a goodly
Number heard and responded to the very changing of their eternal destiny Bruce had words he used to
Say my morning sky used to only hold dread without question I knew my soul so precious was truly
Dead but then He spoon fed to my feeble lips Himself as the word it told in detail the darkness that is to
Everyone a plague he stole deep within captured my heart and soul changed this man alone into a
blessed vessel that cared only for His children so fare made me fearless in pursuit of them gave me the
Ability to allow them to see dreams that were their own lives after the tender mending done with hands
That bare the nail prints and imprinted on tender children the expressed love of the father that started
At the beginning and will never cease please we bid thee come to him lost ones

I

SWEAR by what the sages spoke
Round the Mareotic Lake
That the Witch of Atlas knew,
Spoke and set the ***** a-crow.

Swear by those horsemen, by those women
Complexion and form prove superhuman,
That pale, long-visaged company
That air in immortality
Completeness of their passions won;
Now they ride the wintry dawn
Where Ben Bulben sets the scene.

Here s the gist of what they mean.

II
Many times man lives and dies
Between his two eternities,
That of race and that of soul,
And ancient Ireland knew it all.
Whether man die in his bed
Or the rifle knocks him dead,
A brief parting from those dear
Is the worst man has to fear.
Though grave-diggers' toil is long,
Sharp their spades, their muscles strong.
They but ****** their buried men
Back in the human mind again.

III
You that Mitchel's prayer have heard,
"Send war in our time, O Lord!'
Know that when all words are said
And a man is fighting mad,
Something drops from eyes long blind,
He completes his partial mind,
For an instant stands at ease,
Laughs aloud, his heart at peace.
Even the wisest man grows tense
With some sort of violence
Before he can accomplish fate,
Know his work or choose his mate.

IV
Poet and sculptor, do the work,
Nor let the modish painter shirk
What his great forefathers did.
Bring the soul of man to God,
Make him fill the cradles right.

Measurement began our might:
Forms a stark Egyptian thought,
Forms that gentler phidias wrought.
Michael Angelo left a proof
On the Sistine Chapel roof,
Where but half-awakened Adam
Can disturb globe-trotting Madam
Till her bowels are in heat,
proof that there's a purpose set
Before the secret working mind:
Profane perfection of mankind.

Quattrocento put in paint
On backgrounds for a God or Saint
Gardens where a soul's at ease;
Where everything that meets the eye,
Flowers and grass and cloudless sky,
Resemble forms that are or seem
When sleepers wake and yet still dream.
And when it's vanished still declare,
With only bed and bedstead there,
That heavens had opened.
Gyres run on;
When that greater dream had gone
Calvert and Wilson, Blake and Claude,
Prepared a rest for the people of God,
Palmer's phrase, but after that
Confusion fell upon our thought.
V
Irish poets, earn your trade,
Sing whatever is well made,
Scorn the sort now growing up
All out of shape from toe to top,
Their unremembering hearts and heads
Base-born products of base beds.
Sing the peasantry, and then
Hard-riding country gentlemen,
The holiness of monks, and after
Porter-drinkers' randy laughter;
Sing the lords and ladies gay
That were beaten into the clay
Through seven heroic centuries;
Cast your mind on other days
That we in coming days may be
Still the indomitable Irishry.

VI
Under bare Ben Bulben's head
In Drumcliff churchyard Yeats is laid.
An ancestor was rector there
Long years ago, a church stands near,
By the road an ancient cross.

No marble, no conventional phrase;
On limestone quarried near the spot
By his command these words are cut:
Cast a cold eye
On life, on death.
Horseman, pass by!

Sandy Hook sickness perpetrated the most atrocious act against the innocent an individual forged in the
Darkest tangle finally leads to darkness a soulless depravity that strikes at the source that gave him birth
And then at the childhood that he grew to abhor every household in America experienced burning tears
And anguish loss compounded by knowledge of such brutality against the most tender among us no
Other act has created such sacred honor with such scope and magnitude many are the numbers and
Symbols that are a part of our history 911 seal team six but none carries such violation and redemption
As 26 more pure essential element never can be quarried the figures so absolute they are the resolute
Fixed immortal vision that stands beyond the disbelief that rocked us as a people we are possessed and
Changed by their faces we crossed speechless ground were bound and weighted with the heaviest
Burden until we encountered the bands of angels that surrounded them with our mortal eyes we beheld
Their entrance into glory darkness was refuted and light was all and all love conquered hate and malice
And the storm wrought the intangible indestructible peace that was shed abroad in our hearts as
Atonement and an anthem as no other our innocence knows victory and nothing can long subdue it evil
Is changed from its blackest intentions to loves whitest holding with words and touch a knelling savior
With hugs and hands he wiped away fears and tears he smoothed their hair with such tenderness it was
As if it was our collected hands as a people the emotional swell was a mighty breaking that
Surged and raced may this be our comfort of life that found its true footing in life that would
Never end let this be a comfort to us we were beaten and on the ropes but now we are blessed sacred
Power of 26 holds with stunning immovable grace we are invested and blessed with a new unity as a
People we were led down a path of unmentionable horror and sorrow along the way strains of glory
Began a marvelous refrain we were changed from powerless to a metal of uncommon strength for the
Days ahead will be filled with peril and uncertainty but through the best being brought to a shinning
Drawn from the worst circumstance we see and know with new eyes that were before the regular eyes
That only knew failure now we by the testing of fire are truly come out purified and have tasted and
Now there is a new found glint in our eyes evil has unveiled itself but our lives are telling a new
Existence has Happened and we are profoundly changed and are made ready we march with head held
High bolstered and emblazoned my their memory

Death Knows Not a Stranger

This is the sheild Jesus gave me to protect Addy
but it will fit you if you have suffered loss


Dear Addy you will never read these words hurting one this is the war of darkness and its pall
That is a great slab it is made from turgid raw material the awful density the core of a quagmire

We are far in distance and time from Pacific Grove High School for you and Kathleen for me
Army life where we are is of no consequence death hunts its prey we were unaware then the

Deep black waves pushed against all visible light instantly we were in great depths disfigurement it
Obliterates all that was sharp and clear with warring powers it reduced our postulations to

Nonexistence we were assured they were built on bedrock Bethlehem steel stone quarried from
Surest granite the front to our fortress showcase was of impeccable marble how awed spectators

Were our security unquestioned and then the hand of death with ease dissolved our house as it were
Paper the beam the central support gave way in the night outward storm not the cause but inner

Cisterns wore thin and cracked the spirit no longer could be held and contained though it was made
Of thoughts mined from deep interests that was the stalwart reserves of economy and wisdom that

Form the primary pillars of a successful life these are hard won but are required when time limitations
Have been reached and must be forfeited so as if a secret war was fought and lost we stand in utter

Disbelief and can’t grasp the magnitude of our loss we fall against walls of splendor in these courts
Where so much was shared with the departed joy edged with laughter hung as sheer silk with

Designs of beauty that can only be from sharing at deep levels they seemed rigid because they
Were in essence the combined strength of our two souls what could move them cut them asunder

What enemy could surmount such habitations of love that a sister can have for another only the darkest
Blackened heart could invade but this intruder is hated by God himself but within the very folds of

His tragic existence there is seen and heard the fluttering of the whitest dove in her wings springtime
Of the soul is announced against the harsh back drop of a coffin fresh turned earth and marble stone

That bears her name on this wise alone immortality is birthed all that was loved is now indescribable
To human tongue our eyes were made for earthy climes only by the eyes of faith can you see

The shimmering bright new creation that left a life of limitation to be a jewel crusted in His royal
Crown by this be comforted hurting one

Between the cool-quarried kitchen
and paint-faded south facing door
runs a windowless wall
sugar-papered with childhood dreams.

Memories of roughly folded gifts
squirreled in satchels,
crossed creases still intact;
curled corners fixed with shiny pins.

Luminescent paint heartens the darkness of a pitch grotto
anticipating a flicked switch
to illuminate dimmed histories
of abstract symbols, visionless figures and countless fingers.

The small pink fists that captured
Time's most precious pieces,
now live with vaguely painted hope
of sheering unsteady walls
in their uncertain world.

ABBY King& Queen of hearts  

Royal eyes of bowed benevolence with passion and love two mortals stood on Scotland’s sovereign soil
And a portion of it they prayed and commanded by their souls would be held in esteem and forever it

Would be sacred and by many stones there arose a holy monolith so dedicated to God from the
Truest and purist heart that Scotland could provide as its Holy Father and mother with ruling powers

That rested in gifts and flowering of royal linage to bestow this towering principle from quarried stone
In all times in sunshine or clouds of pewter gray or the cool airy mist would all proclaim a faith that

Knows no bounds and is always a surety of this peoples love and respect for all that is Holy the inner
Sanctuary always open to rich and poor and it works it curative powers on the blighted soul whatever

Sins might torment but to stand in this great light from stained glass widow’s heights the small would
Feel enlarged the large and great would be made to feel there true size in this gaze of awe none are big

But they are the perfect size that sons and daughters make when they are on their knees in Holy prayer
None are as great as when they humble themselves and give ardent expression to their need of being

Made Holy no greater riches can be found in any country that outweighs a praying people and who
Show they seek guidance and mercy from its never ending source from He who sets upon A Holy throne

That puts all kingdoms in their proper place as they lift holy hands in praise

'So careful of the type?' but no.
  From scarped cliff and quarried stone
  She cries, 'A thousand types are gone:
I care for nothing, all shall go.

'Thou makest thine appeal to me:
  I bring to life, I bring to death:
  The spirit does but mean the breath:
I know no more.' And he, shall he,

Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair,
  Such splendid purpose in his eyes,
  Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies,
Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer,

Who trusted God was love indeed
  And love Creation's final law--
  Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shriek'd against his creed--

Who loved, who suffer'd countless ills,
  Who battled for the True, the Just,
  Be blown about the desert dust,
Or seal'd within the iron hills?

No more? A monster then, a dream,
  A discord. Dragons of the prime,
  That tare each other in their slime,
Were mellow music match'd with him.

O life as futile, then, as frail!
  O for thy voice to soothe and bless!
  What hope of answer, or redress?
Behind the veil, behind the veil.

Sacred Ground

Space a dimension it is the ancient days converging and a priest with agelessness holds your stare

He looks beyond all artifice he scrutinizes thoughts where they come from where they are going
Your mind feels the fire it is all consuming it burns all impurities waste is hunted and pure blue fire

Annihilates this reprobate that was born when time began it has robbed all of true consequence
It finds only holy flame in this your most sacred place the priest moves with purpose into every corner

He carries the thurible filled with incense it permutes all nothing does it miss it represents ancestral
Wholeness you are indivisible with your mortal forbears this collection of prayers and thoughts  

Bespangles earths dark night arrest visions left by unseen visitors they open to you as the secretive
And as rare as the ghost orchid it only blooms at night it is impossible to find but here they grow

Profusely in this hideaway where temperate air breathes its mixed wisdom from the fount of
Creation here is where you further order make laws that are unbreakable and no one dares to trespass

The sanctity of the soul is impossible to breach by oath of death you have sworn to keep it pure
The place where you kneel for Holy rites like God’s holy mountain continually smoked from his presence

Here the foot hills are vestured by the spirit that gives you life beyond earths short span crowned in
Glory robed in righteousness not one speck that would mark you as unclean oh Holy fountain feed

Your waters into my sacred ground make them rise and then shower this place that spiritual fruit
Grow without end while I occupy this contrivance of flesh let them cascade down from the high rocks

A water fall to cleanse me from all evil not just it realness but its very appearance to thee I have bowed
And have forswear allegiance to you forever may my commitment be made stronger in these Holy

Waters enough to sway the souls of men and women who suffer pain and sorrow to follow thy word to
Their Sacred place where the gifts of heaven materialize as they commonly do in Heaven if such things

Can ever be called common here we have harnessed ancient ways brought it as quarried stone we have
Carried across centuries to build our castle that bears you Holy name and blazes throughout the

Darkened lost world so all can find relief under heady tides that seethe with untold blessing as well
As the natural sea.

This writing attests that God hears when we cry out for divine assistance to help others I parked by
Sacred ground that Sunday night it was where my grandmother lived and prayed and fasted sixteen

Days so this Town could have a church it started on her front porch now we must go to the harvest field
With new Zeal time is short do today what is needed tomorrow isn’t promised

Trace my love in the half-shell curve of a woman’s back,
Like the naked wetland of Egypt, ibis-nest of the Nile delta.
Lovely woman, throw your arm back like a tethered cord,
To this sledge-mason for your pyramids, this falcon-doting ward
Of your gold capstones, all-seeing eyes over the west-bank shore.

Love, our days of polished limestone are wind-scoured,
Left like a pile of petrified fruit from figs and bottle gourds.
Love, always forget, now the sand has filtered into my pores
And cascades into the empty shell of my quarried heart.

I left you behind.
I had too,
the pain was crushing me.
I couldn't breath anymore.

I could see naught
but the spectrum of iron and ash.

It struck me so profoundly,
As if I had seen the impossible lines
In gods ancient hands.
A resonating slap across the soul.

I could not be you anymore.
But I left you her picture,
a beautiful, broken path
and I crawled away.

I cried everyday.
At first in every regard,
and then mostly inward.
I became as a black veil
as the cathedral I build to her
slowly melted away
in the acids of anger and pain.

Around the ruin
I dug a mote
and I filled it with sarcastic regret
and I set it ablaze with volcanic irony
the hate of how I was.

I built a Castle from my own remains,
a dread and lifeless thing.
Stone by stone,
Quarried from the shell
of what I thought love would be
Each splashed with a crimson
"never again" and set soundly
against all who would come calling.

I have lived here ever since.
Walls lined with exquisite paintings.
Markers of siege I withstood
each a beautiful face, lost but never forgotten.

Everyday I sit at a simple table
covered in the jigsaw mess of it,
a broken song I wish to sing
but I am missing so many pieces
and I left the box with you.

Every ****** night
before I go to bed
I look in the silver reflection
beset by patina and time
and I peer back at the familiar
seventeen year old boy there
who has yet to fall in love with her,
to be wrapped in the glory
of her soul
and I tell the dreams in his eyes
the very essence of him
the wayward pieces of me
I am sorry, I am so very sorry,

But I had to leave you behind.

My wraith stands at the wood line .. Hone the Carpenter's chisel with wet stone , quarried from the banks of my childhood's keeper ..Record my days within Shangri-La into a Hickory towering these very waters , return a dreamers ashen remains to mingle with her bountiful fauna .. I will return everlasting appreciation and salutation with the many flowers of Spring that cover her embankments ...

May 7 2022

wrap me up in a compendium
swaddle me
in a hundred volume tome
of copperplate script
and loose leaf scritta paper
printed type mixed with beetle ink-
like a pre-reformation
family heirloom bible.
or like the scriptures
which are chiseled
criss cross
upside down
and sideways
all along the catacomb walls
sprawling outward under Rome
in confused radial non patterns
of hexagonal fractals covered in symbols of heresy…
or a quarried sandstone
honeycomb
subterranean spirit secrets
hidden under symbols scribed by martyred
2nd century Christians,
swimming with the anchor and the cross
with the Jesus fish and all the rotas squares.

a city full of crucifixes and brass bulls
is buzzing and burning up above.
chain my bones against a Wailing Wall
with my mouth taped shut around an
Aztec whistle
or at the very least
a wooden reed.
noonday Yiddish hymnals
are all row row rowing
merrily
down my ear canals
in a boat full of
Ambrosian rites
Gallican liturgies
hot menorah oil
frankincense
and the Vatican’s signal of the black smoke
still waiting on the new Bishop of Rome

galvanized lunar tetrads
waxing at the apogee
casting shadows so wide
the sun grew long forgotten in my mind
like a song not quite remembered
sung in the valley of the shadow of the Iron Age
or the present dusk of the Piecean Era
when all the Jesus fish
in the Coi pond
of the neighbors yard
were swallowed whole
by a blue heron.  
luckily every dusk soon gives way to dawn
and the high noon of the Aquarian winter
couldn't come soon enough
like the fumata bianca
a water bearer is like a living miracle
in the eyes of a dry and dusty scarecrow
and it is given us
to bring about the end of time
for it is time alone that winds on wearily
and the earth is parched
and very tired now.

bundle me up in an
ancient Kemetic lexicon
a hundred gallon vessel
of holy water couldn’t quench my thirst for
dark matter
and starlight
I used to return from the ocean with a thimble full of salt water
but it is given us to be the Saviors of the world
so now I drive to the beach in a dump truck
big enough for an open pit anthracite coal mine
reciting one quite heart-prayer
at a time,
squeezing all the holy drops
from the salt
and the barnacles
and the brine.

©️  Jordan Gee

You, Sweet Wild, come evergreen, as
Ink-shake from the Book of Kells,
cleaned ivories of Egret vellum,
aspen mantled infidel, a pheromone
of elsewhere Islands, here to hand me
quarried gems of bold and bloodied
petulance.

In the long-room wait of
untamed reverie
you rise,
On apple cores of chalk cliff
laughter, hoist your storm-mad
urchin noise throughout the flag
of sickened orchards.

Emerald to this ruby thirst,
Bind fruitless words
to thoughtless choice


For you alone shall split my lips
cruel libertine of gorgeous vice,

Imperious,
Ephemeral

The day now split
  drifts off unpromised,
  the dream remains with me

Our words as jewels
  now treasured pawn,
  their tickets burning free

The nights by measure
  mornings fled,
  those times you woke and lied

My heart remains
  my own to wed,
  your wound still deep inside

From spells you cast
   upon our gift,
   and quarried into stone

The past is black,
  the future gone,
  —this present mine to own

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)