Monday, September 2, 2013

A Meditation in Fire

The beautiful ghosts when I close my eyes
Are a meditation in fire
The old names, written in smoke
I call them, to remember, then to forget

All the pretty worlds a mind can make
They know me in their sleep
But they are the thing that morning will break
So another me, each morning may wake

But you must hold me with your eyes
And touch me, as I touch you with my words
And then might we sleep dreamless,
Beneath the beating wings of birds

Because I never forget the night owns me
Within a shadow, I am her breeze 

So that this flame flows past our lips
Through all the lies we sold ourselves
Round the bind my hands would unmake
While counting a dervish of stars

Would I be clean, but hollowed out
Innocence, hungrily collapsed

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