I’m hearing how the noons spin
like colorful streaks from within
the agate of your temples

it is your voice that fills
these tin hours soldered on skin

the house that I’m talking you about
has foundation burrowed into the heart
walls of thoughts
opening unto the sky
inside its the attic are hoping angels

the verse that I’m daily reading
as if you would read a prayer
is the organ that knots our souls
that cuts away our breath
and the way

another brick received straight
from the beyond of thoughts

inside the circular walls
rises the second heart