Sonata Two Healing
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from NONE - The Hours of the Cross
Cloud, vapor, inform me by varying
Corpses – bring birth to this old cast of mine
And breathe life to once familiar substance.
“Will thou accept a friendlier peace, or
Reacquaint past-time with austerity.”
Though my veins, crimson mixed with crimson,
Flow – once arteries of youth, dilapidated,
Spread on the bed of mortality.
“Drink from this common font – be less artful
As thy eagerness is serene.”
Moisture sharp as glass, inhaled as unction -
Air aching and vociferous whose cells
Are of feeble and malignant mold -
Come and inform me of my last repose.
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