No Coda

Your name is my prayer.
Surely gods tire of this
single syllable I speak.
It is the only refrain I afford,
no coda,
nothing repeats -
just the thousands of ways
I can speak your name.

Terminus

There is a quiet, dense
secret
forming inside me.

It is the key to all hidden things.

Somehow, mysteries
now shimmer faintly for me
at the edge of sight -
a world of shadowed,
irridescent, gossamer threads.

Ostensibly, there is some door I pushed,
not knowing its destination,
whose threshold has, not wrongly,
brought me to myself.

She is a flawed, grasping,
Divine thing
called forth from fevered nights.

Mystery no longer, she is Known.

She is who has been beneath my skin
all this time.

The Line You Drew

I am the water that covers the line you drew,
a puddle that overflows
to become stream and river
and in my time I make a divide,
a separation you must cross
to find me again.

The Curfews of Man

Confess me,
fallen as you are,
all waxen limbs
and feather thoughts.
Together we are
the pure brilliance of youth
dying a knowing death.

On planted cords
your absolution overflows me.
Oppression releases in torrents
and new seas are made
in the hour.

Our merging hearts
become the new light,
a new world bound bright
whose boundaries
reach further
than the curfews of man
can contain.