I stand against the mortar & gravel; blind
to the clumsy fire
about to rifle me. My bound wrists
pulse: heartbeat: I do not know: I do not
know. I can not see the sky’s
gray mirror, a guillotine, that infinitely repeats
my name. I say that I am poised
at the edge of beauty and that my body rests
awhile. I say to myself, be without faith, be
ready.
Gentle is the soldier
whose words do not reach me. Gentle his blows…
Imagine a little while the physicality
of silence. It is not difficult.
Sound
of explosions and a pumping of air break
my hush… The sun listens
as another day prepares its silt:
Here, sleep breaks up my world.
I dream an improbable lung, and this lung
exhales my breath;
through gauzy, infolded
eyes I see You. And see
that I have known You
within every face: a conscious ether, alive
in emptiness. My body’s white flag
blinks. Not even a prayer
enters.