January 18, 2012
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I am simply a closet
in the corridors of the castle
that is perfect that is beautiful
that is you.
You sing the dawn like
Jesus’ blood on Sunday
and while you sing I lay here
locked in the dungeon
that is me and listen
to you
and the rivers of your
elegant laugh and
the flight of your
perfection like the subtle
wings of a hummingbird
and I sit
and I wonder
that if I were the castle
with long bubbling rivers
and corridors leading to
the showered white anemone
that is me and perhaps
you were the closet
I would be beautiful

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