Thursday, June 5, 2014

There it is, behind your eyes

Within the loving cradle of my hands,
The roundness of your head seems all entire:
One gentle shape, and all you might require
To house the inner skies and hidden lands,
The river lights, the pebbled autumn strands,
The contemplative snow, the winter fire,
The rising, fading clouds of your desire --
All held within, as nature understands.

Yet there it is, behind your eyes: the scream
Of crowds that overwhelm the level shore,
The claws that snap the pleasant frame and pull
Apart the shutters of the One you seem
To show themselves, the wounded, as they pour
The blood of their own pain into your skull.

-- Thursday, June 5, 2014.

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