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This verbal knot has woven into tangled legend,
words that only theoretically explain another
hypothetical kink, or potential disparate perspective.
Circles of logic twist us into vast distances.
If only the earth would shake us,
force sentences from our bodies,
like sickness seeping from our pores.
If only some feverish vision in the
back of shocked eyelids would reveal
the forked sadism of semantic twisted tongues.
What I say, and say again, you can not hear.
Your eyes are earth-damp eternity.
Despite the weary wearing of skin on bone–
and the crinkle, crease, of taut surfaces–
you see scars as maps of memory.
I see foreshadowed valleys
where roots will take hold to tear apart
your little temple bit by bit. Your body,
like the land, aches and groans in my ear–
head to chest to hear this beautiful tremble,
the sloughing of your cells to dust.
The rooks are flying to the rookery again,
creating a raucous sound with the fight of
beak and feather against the wind.
Crepuscular mountains are blue,
cut paper on a horizon of pink tinged sky.
Color bleeds to silence, washed out and tired.
Your breath is slow, deep. As darkness comes
I save your paltry phrases for the day I forget
how effortless it was to unhook your fingers from my spine.

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