Wednesday, November 22, 2006


Hands and breath embrace You

in that desperate and gentle way

flowers cup the sky.

You are above and below me

like the sun in water.

You whose body I wear

like a memento

You who are blood-soaked

by my wound.

I am sap in the stem.

I am urgent

compelled into passion

into that crimson cup

you offer

all Your dark flowers.