6.19.2008

The Orphan, pt. II


Earth fills her lap with pleasure and yearning;
I'm above them both, staring into world's end.
there is no smell here, no sound, the taste
only of teeth, two-day-old coffee burn.

the crown of stone bears up –
each step reveals another half-mile –
fighting the clouds, glorious and terrible,
borne on the wind, which enfold and blur;
rough turning hands tilting toward the descent,
hissing, whispering welcome
to my temporary heaven.

Mist lingers behind the gale
to hold me in her long arms.
she chills, settles in drops on the backs of my hands –
evaporating, now in my capillaries,
tracing her way back to the source.

I won't say I love her, but she stays in my heart,
which is how love works anyway
the way I learned it.

it's not in the tongue, the tips of my fingers,
but the occasional heartbeat –
once every couple hundred, I guess –
that takes the taste from my tongue
twice as well as any cup of coffee.