I watch her in the nakedness of loss
grind the last handful of grain,
some last supper
eaten in the long shadow
of hopes bridal train.
Words from the Jagged Edge of Truth
I watch her in the nakedness of loss
grind the last handful of grain,
some last supper
eaten in the long shadow
of hopes bridal train.
On the void, the void,
let love be its fill
for little there is
that remains alone
where love is employed.
It is possible
for a flower
to speak more of love
than a poets words.
These words a reminder
that we should not kill each other,
that we should not kill our babies
or our young men;
that we should not convene the story
to reflect the lie of our own truth.
Oh this endless empty
that swallows all
of everything,
it is a sadness that is heavy
it is a tear that will not cry
it is a tune that has no words
it is an echo in my hollow heart.