Saturday, December 16, 2006

Her Broken Flower Prayer

Like the poppy

I need Her rough handling,

my heart is red for flights.

Words run away naked

and windblown

not to seed any theory

but to scatter all thought.

I am a bloodstained silence.

I am a burst open

flower of the formless.

In such moments

one bloom falling apart

will destroy any religion

except love.