of the birds in your hand
and the hares at your feet
you’ll stroke only them
and i, alone, crave
only to touch only your feet
of the calf by your side
lashes long over eyes brown and wide
do you not see me in that calf?
did you not see my eyes also brown and wide?
oh
i see
i know
you did
and turned your own inside
of the rabbit at the left foot of you
would-be god,
begged i,
sprung i,
at your voice
but you saw me not
and withheld your nod
of the sparrow at hover
at the level of your eye
have you idea what it took for me to fly?
before i met you, impossible, nigh
but at first meeting,
before inquisition,
so light in the sky was i
of the owl at your right hand
oh would-be god
did you not see me so clearly?
of course you did you failed, failed man
but preferred me kneeling
and the mouse in your hair
did you not feel me rooting for crumbs
in the maze of your wildness unbooting
of your tillings un-fooding
of your walkways un-sure-footing?
and the rat in your vestment
did you not feel my nails?
as i went scrounging for some route, some way
to touch you at the entrails?
of the mosquito at your thigh
did you not feel when i sipped your blood like wine
for nourishment before you i did never find?
oh saint
oh saint
oh taker and painter of my heart
paints of lead and taint and shame
oh man of peace and carver of heart,
you left me in this place
while you journeed apart and you smelled new places and saw new faces
while i boxed and blindered tasted only my heart
you have sky and steps to take you from yourself away
while i trapped here rot and pray
oh man of peace
i prithee, release
oh man of peace
you have scrape of bark and song of lark
while i recline only on this stone seat and consume the glacial remains of my heart
for alms failing
alone in this life without spark
oh man of peace
you sit upon grass
you tread the open air
while the difference here is
one sees that the stone,
but not i,
does weep
and it, the stone,
but not you,
has cares and affairs
oh man of peace
oh would-be god
please loose the rod
please end our rot
acknowledge
what abstemious us
should justly have sought
and i am ever cold
and i am ever ill
without hunger and less with will
and past hunger are my empty breasts
inward did they fold
on days when the stone is dry
then i am wet
weeping from my legs during an escapèd dream
of you and me and
the floor of the woods upset
oh would-be god
do you know the every month where my heart runs out and
could i
would i
put it in a cup
and bring me to your lips
oh would-be god
and me, it’s me
on which i need you sip
