Confession

“everyone who gazes will sooner or later feel the urge to go out into the desert” -Rainer Maria Rilke

Footsteps condensate from rain.
Fat chrysalis balls of salt-tinted green
or blue. Carving out steady lines,
perpendicular alters,
left before, now covered up, blown over.
Glass copper grains weaving
like sandpaper around ankles.

When eyes proceed skin, there is focus.
Middle-level gazing that allows movement.
In a breathless state, a tempters talk
wingbeats until bent knees hit earth.
Pure collapse.
No longer a part of sound.
solid sky bent over your back, like wood,
marks of receiving.
Lifting arms until fingers crack heaven.
now, Pray.

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Categories: Poetry

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