symphonic pieta. through windows
who is there.
upon belief in a fresh flower,
equally faith relives the unseen.
I tempt an early self to join me now.
each lifetime you find me
I am good at finding nothing.
reflex is a crisp flower.
I remove myself. today I heard
him say that he could serve
as a psychologist because he can
exempt himself from feeling.
I cannot remove myself.
from anything. the birds do not
drift by. the texture of a photograph
does not. my hands are here.
I feel what I believe
you feel. pieta. what do I do
with this. still real still
breathing in my thoughts and heart.
and in my mind the half chilled
flower becomes the same crisp
and the body in my arms
my arms around this body.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Sheila, thank you for these beautiful words.
Especially the last paragraph of this poem. I hope you do not mind that I used these lines to give meaning to an image in my blog.
posted here
Post a Comment