In the distance

is the last

broken shard

home

The tallest

mountain of all

so faint

it almost merges

with the sky

People are not

aware

it’s coming

They swim

in the sea

drink coffee

think of supper

and things

that might have been

revisit their youth

the lessons learned

and not wanted again

You must become

a man

before you can become

a god-man

Christ in reverse

You must know

what it is to hurt

and be hurt

even when it is

undeserved

You stand in the morning

and turn

from the sun’s path

to where the sun

is pointing

That is your ascent

You are not alone

You might even find yourself

in company

like the parrots

in Porphyrios’s cage

nestling up to each other

their necks shaped

for this

Loss is hard

means sleeping with a stranger

the old shape

has gone

been stripped of its punctuation

it is no longer

surrounded by words

it is now a thought

waiting to be spoken

The old text is useless

it can only be recycled

or observed

The smell has gone

the adoration

the string of syllables

proffered

like bubbles in the ocean

The breath has returned

It is being held now

by the Alchemist himself

whose memory has no limit

who only ever ascribes

good intentions

to the languages he has learned

Language is our vehicle

our rocket to the stars

which are full stops

glowing

in the darkness

of our hearts

Sunday, 5 pm

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