The Light is a

Rushing water.

I’m swept along

Broken & dashed

Against jagged rocks.

My blood becomes

One with the water,

Crimson ribbons flowing

Against its ebbing curves.

I become one with the water,

Brackish body soiling

Its silk-clear surface.

My soul rises from the water

A sapphire washed of impurities,

translucent with the kiss of sunrise.



You bore witness to Lachrymose visions of

Blackbirds shuttered off to ever-night cages,

White tides flooding municipal blocks,

Girls trading destinies for head or handcuffs,

Boys in suspended flight above sidewalks.

& while His lament sprouted lilies on arid lots

You again demanded an oracle and a sign.

Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday

He spoke the melody

of a Blues People;

each verse cascading

the ashes of history

& intoning the promise

of a tribe in a wilderness

that won’t say¬†its name.



Cheated ravens depart screeching aloud.

The posse lumbers close behind;

lilly-white robes dull from seclusion

In back-wood rooms & halls,

Crunching boots concealing rotten soles.

As the figure in red-white plaid

Absently forms snowy shapes & words,

She watches the detente & dangling

Nylon link, it’s open maw swaying

In the breath of winter ides.