it isn’t true
that what you don’t know doesn’t hurt
silence may conceal terrible assumptions
uncertainties deeper than mildew in churches
murkier than biblical allegories

one day you tear letters and delete email messages
nail all windows to your Sacré-Coeur
pull out lip contours from skin
and wall your own lips under fretful nails
then music may turn out to be the only refuge
you find by chance a misplaced mp3
and listen tardily to what made no sense before
strange how I find myself on a distant shore

Kundalini snake coils in sunset
you step into agaves and bleed music
the sky falls several semitones lower than night
enclosing your heart in a lapidary poem




Published in Bywords Quarterly Journal, July 2008