I revisit sometimes the words of a girl When I want a break from my leaning and longing It feels as if I am carrying her soul in my palm My reasons prove fool and frail before the brook of wanting I start journeying I linger sometimes I find God seeking the pearl in my breast My heart like it were a fish with Raphael Burning as if its passion had been baptized I sometimes revisit the words of a girl And I have got God on my side I stumble out the way of the gate I slip into malady To enchant her spirit To have her near me To have her near me Is a wanting that challenges my selflessness I start assuming the form of a river Of a dog Of a colt of a swan I climb the olympus and feast with the ancients I drink all Israel's wine without a drop gone waisted To become master over her desire I learn the fires No not Zeus nor Dionysius Not all the saints of heaven To be woken without touching To be found again under the water and over the broken bridges Icons, the tiniest shards of memory And the sweetest flower of disbelief and uncertainty and all the fortune of agony under time and the entire wilderness Bathsheba the sin of David She mine.
I revisit sometimes the words of a girl
ReplyDeleteWhen I want a break from my leaning and longing
It feels as if I am carrying her soul in my palm
My reasons prove fool and frail before the brook of wanting
I start journeying
I linger sometimes
I find God seeking the pearl in my breast
My heart like it were a fish with Raphael
Burning as if its passion had been baptized
I sometimes revisit the words of a girl
And I have got God on my side
I stumble out the way of the gate
I slip into malady
To enchant her spirit
To have her near me
To have her near me
Is a wanting that challenges my selflessness
I start assuming the form of a river
Of a dog
Of a colt
of a swan
I climb the olympus and feast with the ancients
I drink all Israel's wine without a drop gone waisted
To become master over her desire
I learn the fires
No not Zeus nor Dionysius
Not all the saints of heaven
To be woken without touching
To be found again under the water and over the broken bridges
Icons, the tiniest shards of memory
And the sweetest flower of disbelief and uncertainty and all the fortune of agony under time and the entire wilderness
Bathsheba the sin of David
She mine.
I cook
ReplyDeleteYou wash
I cook
You wash