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