Today's poem is by G. C. Waldrep
Sometimes within the natural, a little love is heard.
Called blind, neither touch nor voice
stood in the close of history's gnashed flesh:
the golden hair of language, its shadow-verb
laid to rest in wheat-throat, music's compact fret.
I felt a fragrant dusk skimming the green
away, my love like a garment of bone, a winter-skin
held as neither instrument nor breath
a mesh made new through cession, blue & naked.
I stormed God's body like a black thread.
Death went around
to touch each soul, little bride, spitaling night-fire.
What people buy in dreams
weakens me: burnt honey, sleeping
meat-machines, those sparrows / approached as bell
even as the forest stitches its last green candle.
Light my way now, brother-body.
I linger at the glass gate
in the shadow of God's vast flaming dare
where my children, each quelled debt, once played.
Copyright © 2016 G. C. Waldrep All rights reserved
from Copper Nickel
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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