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To Say Lazarus
I perish, hand and heart,
in marauding lands. Is it so
and is it so? Unto the nightly sands of yore?
I’ve seen different eyes, you see,
ones that close, and some will quaver,
and leading to a question of favor
forever remain open.
But I learn, I learn and watch the water turn.
Beneath it all, through fertile tides.
Tides for you and I to watch, that I’ve watched before,
each of groans and water sifting forward,
lacing the eastern seas in tears that aren’t drifting
anymore, but oft lay fixtures upon our faces,
to breach and swiftly leap into sudden lights that
meet faces as they pass or in speaking,
light questions of searching and seeking.
For there’s been time, for you and I,
to fall below the falling waves,
left watching, yearning at a frothy sun,
or perhaps the moon,
for I’ve seen both circles freely run.
It is hands that conceal our mortal bonds,
said and sung through pressing cloud-break – the mist
that spells a human flaw, wakes among us,
weaves amid such childish qualms, and persists
to flow with fluid motion, crawling
by a stirring figure spent on a page,
a fire brimming laden work, that shines
within a dying light – of sound, and rage.
Beneath, the sunlight strews with silk; in all
but pastures green and white, coloring grand
the parting shades of light, crept by shadows
in a rhythm not eclipsed by my hand,
but caught in doing the ornaments of
nights, that within hence in just one reprieve,
lost behind our mortal veils, yet at last
hither commence, to learn – so I believe.
Yes, believe, for I possess a foolish
sense of hope it seems, that I do decline,
I do refute the strongest means, I do
embrace my mortal dreams, for they are mine.
And hold them near, I live to tell that of
an ode – to what? To man, of such – of choice,
in a swollen word if I can: that speaks
in breaths and human word of primal voice.
I must away, for I am needed,
Mother is a dearest creature,
she is so fair! And is so blue!
That, I must beseech her falling idols,
I must enact the flames of flair,
as I am her own, her sole unveiling,
to worlds of east and west of here,
her coo of pain and pain prevailing
in glimpses of life and death, of life and
living, the whisking hair of tether motions
in eternal strands of dying oceans,
that stand in pearly dusks in unfurled wailing
of nature and splendor’s folds –
tales of new and tales of newer,
a fewer banquet of stories told in her children’s
words that run in whispers,
that run in ripples calm and clear,
but hold me still, below her waking,
until I step and disappear.
Yet I’m content in throwing arms
of failing fires blue and gold,
of sullen claims by modest hearts
that inch me past a breaker’s hold.
I’m content in passing quietly
in moments here and there,
for what is left and what’s left to be
is only in the listless walls,
the thoughtful walls that pass me by
to overtake some other soul,
to leave me be and let me die
in moments here and there.
The ringing tolls of backwards
sprays play softly in my ear,
‘tis not of curling notes refrained,
but music’s spin and earthly treble
that I remember to remain.
And I die, I die and watch the water die,
I wake to voices near and far,
lingering through my pains,
heavy thoughts in state renown,
the falling sounds and raging nights,
until I drown and cast my final lights,
but fear them not, not this concealed,
I do not cry and do not yield,
but take to heart my Mother’s longings,
to gain the sense of true belonging,
and seize a day to call my own,
the rueful days I call my own.
That lead to dusk and early stars,
the twilight twinge of mortal scars,
those fallen nights that we call ours,
but truly do not own.
But take in part a natural giving,
from nature’s eyes of life and living,
that follow dearly you and I,
from whence I’m born, and now when I die,
to say goodbye, beloved,