Sunday, October 5, 2014

Numbers 12: In Writing

Daub the sides
to shut out brine
and place you inside
caul-curled and perfect

to ride 
the weeping waves.
Do they whisper
as they waver
to your cries ?

I afar
Between the reeds
Beneath the sun
Beyond the walls 

of home
bob to your hunger
as the waters spit their anger
at my feet

You see a face
lean in
I see your mouth
arms flail, frail.

She takes you from
your dark womb
your tomb

Encased in shadows
I wait for the river
to gather you
to her broad breast.

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