over a land where the stars can learn to cry and cover me with light
not enough to see the outlines of things
but suspended light, the hues of distant objects in a dream,
I can see myself over a dark landscape
my palms on the ground seek for the prayers of semiprecious stone,
quartzite and travertine, some compounds of calcium,
listening out for the beat of time in the deep green of marble,
in the silence of bedrock, over the coursing of light on water,
over our lean bodies harvesting the kisses of complex dance,
my fingers follow the permanent abstracts of God’s standing still.
How still is the earth under my arms, how still the beating
Of a vast monochrome unobserved.
I can be king over this land, severing the heads of plants, of subjects,
instead I choose texture to guide me over the dead
bodies of past love, the leaping bodies of their ghosts
tongues out to taste the crying of stars.