How do they call you,
those who’ve passed through unmarked
twin doors for the shy
side of one century?

Is it as Nicholas
of Myra,
or of Bari,
or as an unlocated saint,
working wonders in
this home of trim white-stone
block, with three tiers of black-
arches, frowning up at
the merciless
grids behind?

Rows, rows, rows, they float on
glassy, steel-blue oceans,
and these oceans will fall in
violent, cascading, millennial
waves unlike any with foam
caps that once lapped
the rocky coast of lost Lycia--
your see
our maps don’t contain,
and our licit hosannas won’t reach.

Who are they
who pray here?
Bakers, sailors, bankers,
all whose sighs
rise with a torrent of immigrant chants
liaison rafters
fracture in echo-song,
the old coinage that plies your favor.

To which patron can they turn
when your cross crowns not
the work of masons
but one day’s
rubble,
a tongue without a bell,
the charred
relics of unnameable acts?

There were ashes on the floor when
he first moved in.
Soon unnoticed as I watched him begin
to leave his biggest bags at the door and
handle small candles in the
darkest corners.

There were cracks on the walls,
against the white he used the flickering light
to make tall shadow puppets,
and made a smile flash like a switchblade.

Dusting ashes,
coals appeared,
the ones he revered to keep near but kept his scalded hands
in his holeless pockets,
palms wiped with the balm of the hidden places
he settled.

Many opened their gates,
but few have the space to sustain the boy who
refrained from making a home
inside those who were
never truly alone.

I knew where he was,
all along I could hear him playing that song,
a heavy sound resonating and sinking tones
into,
into,
into the weakest bones,
easily snapped,
but he reigned the cracks back in
from breaking beyond
thinner skin.

It was an inferno in the making,
this new found hero unaware
he'd be pouring gasoline over tiny heartstrings.

Wary sparks kept their mark in unlocated edges,
afraid any product of the name
would make everything in it's entirety
go up in flame.
But a mouth started to taste smoke,
clouded eyes began to see a familiar face
in blacker windows.

The feeling was branded, less than fragile, more than candid.

And it hurt to write with burnt fingertips.

Choking,
a suffocation could be an equal devastation
so the broken hands wrote for
the chance to breathe.
They found relieve
in the boy who refused to drop his lit fuse,
eyes unignoring to the fire left roaring,
a warmth on his cheeks
from the heat of one light he allowed to be nothing less than
impossibly bright.

You were an unlocated island
Inhabited within palm trees aligned
To cast the hazy dreams I see today
When I think about when I didn't know you.
The travellers who sailed across the roseate desert
Never thought to discover what was glowing
Like tangerine torches to lead me back into the light.
When I was given the map,
The luminosity was so defying
to how I wanted to love you,
That I wrapped myself in lurid shadows
As if they were velvety serapes
Because I was so fond of the midnight dusk.

You longed for a taste of another species
While I clung to the jungle vines that replicate my own.
Euphoric lava bottled up inside of me,
I couldn't tell you how your twisted words
Made my brain fizz like it was filled with lemonade.
As if the romantic poetry was seaweed
That you tied around every corner of the boat
I needed to pull me towards the shore
Like peonies groping their arms across my land
To steal whatever skin I had left to give.
I longed for you to unwrap the reef
And touch each and every fruit I grew for you.
But you'd already destroyed our rainforest
When your lips got tangled in someone else's mouth.
Though, I still want to go to the island.

Swinging on the tip of the tongue
Deprived of sanity
Loneliness because they see and hear
But do not feel a presence
Near the back
In front of the rear
Location is unlocated
In the middle of the lifespan
You sway away to the melodies
Of your mothers cotton like voice
Trembling not knowing
If it is mommy or the wind
Big, vast, extended
Desert abandoned
You are the desert and the sweltering sand is in you
In your ears
In your stomach pleats
In the hollows of your cheeks
And you pour water
But forget to drink
So you spill raw
And crisped sorrow
In these caves
Just inside your cheeks
Invisible oceans of
Rust and salt
And you touch but do not feel
You forget to feel as soon as you sense
The moment dies as soon as it stands up
On its third heel
And you are locked up
Imprisoned in oblivion
Inside the hollows of your cheeks
And you scream deliver me! Deliver me!
Mommy
I am here!
Inside of you, deliver me!
But she is no longer here herself
So you cannot be there too
So you dive back to where you came from
To where you were before
To where your mommy resides
To where we don't even remember ourselves anymore