Monday, June 16, 2014

Exodus 38: In Writing

All is counted and accounted
Every pulse, exhale,
 Every dream, in  long-drawn waiting
when you count the starts, the grains, the sand
the building bricks,
the crumbled straw

I croon your memory.
In the billow-bellied bronze
I see a face
rush forward to meet me
arms greet me

wash me in your waters
into you I dissolve
inseparable, inextricable
a void of absence
I am that I am

Call me by name
Splash to my shape
Find yourself in a shadowed mirror

A longing echo, calling your name

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