Monday, February 17, 2014

compunctio cordis


"I am no longer seen as a 'this' among other 'this's but, through love, the world is revealed in terms of me."

Brittle, dry, distracted,
my tongue approaches,
trying to form words and failing bitterly,
as it flails, bootless, trying to shape the sounds.
Dissolving in my mouth are glorious words that fill the palate's vault--
that miniature pink cathedral of flesh wherein words sink into the hearts of their hearers.

Give me, the pine trees plead, a word to give to my beloved.
Give me, the dove demands, a desert.
Where nothing is there, but you.
Amid the sand is nothing else but you.
Where no other lights shine for me but you.
The sun is dark compared to your radiance.
In that desert, sings the sparrow,
Here in my desert, murmurs the lily,
I will live, thrive, relish the harsh bite of the sand in my teeth.
Because I will be stripped, worn down,
sanded, grinded, thoroughly defeated.
Flattened like the sphinx's nose.
But how sweet, thinks the cobra,
as it sheds its old, worn skin.
To let go of that which is not needful.

The hart and hind drink by the brook,
timid, shy at first,
wary of the microcosmic, babbling rapids-
Then, with a burst of desire,
a surge of zeal, cutting through their tender flesh,
reaching their heart with a sting,
propels them forward into the foamy water,
  splashing their way through the
quenching their thirst on spirited blue ribbon in the sea of dun.

Water descends from the starry night.
Gently, like a sigh from Psyche's lips,
embracing the cupid ground so sweetly,
laying down upon her back a sweet carpet of frozen kisses.
The young man, his breath fragranced with cider,
his beard frosted with liquified breath,
his eyes sparkling with the thrill of the chase
runs after the hart,
heart pounding, knees wobbling, lips opening into a breathless smile
running, as sunrise dawns, back into the desert.
If the desert is all you desire, sing the ants,
then why do you wander so many places?

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