We Should See Other Blogs

It struck me this morning
that even when not to eachother,
we still use the
same words.

Wax bones and brittle lips, I
kiss the earth that swallows all things
(whose fault, whose plate, whose tumble)
and say, blessed be the Name
of he who takes away.

This empty day brimmed
with prayer to pathmaker
and machete: glass half full of
leaves, branches, and the
promised hundred-fold.

Muddled summer days for so long
till skyline splitting in ten places
bellows in rage in pain in terror
and I reach up to say touch me
touch me touch me let me
scream with you.

I forget sometimes (in the mornings,
at eyes open) that I’m underwater,
and breathe in deep.

I was looking into the dark eyes of a child
when my own dark eyes became seas and overflowed,
to think of your dark eyes far off and falling
into the dark eyes of another.