Eternity, a knife stuck
perpendicular in the ground
a blade wide enough
we must squeeze by
flaying our back
or front, which
would you lose
to participate in this prayer
what do you come to sacrifice?
Or on our best mornings we
close our eyes and walk
for hours
with only that shining blade
behind the eyes,
willing it to extend an invitation
an image to intersect
this blind road and spare not
one side of our body
more, but to thickly, as thick
as the million ghosts of stars,
run us through, clean
or not, until our blood coats
both flats of the knife
and we are more eternity
than not, flesh
fallen, shaved from the spine
tender mouthfuls for birds
of death and resurrection.
aug 17, 12
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