Wherein this babbling brook has dried
and left the soul exposed, deride
the pleasures past to hold
and so in kiss strength in repose…
Here dusty soil and stone inlay
a fabric’s pain and mystical,
so mind is held in drifting stare
and lingers, wanton, cynical…
In flaxen desert bluest sky,
the soul attached, contained, will die
and know not of the blue abound,
just dry creek, dust and dying ground.
Thus, slowest haste begins decay
on boney frame splayed prone,
and there between the cactus lay
in bleached white death, alone.
Undisturbed this relic’s scene
where distance, heat, draws tight the string,
that held in tensioned balance here
be bowed that only moments sing
beneath mirage of heat’s distortion,
culled to sound, not last,
amidst the screeching sharp horizon
draws a ghostly moment fast.
Such death in life’s sweet pain, distortion.
The desert’s source, the desert’s wrath,
bleach white these bones, so sweet remorse
in journey’s challenge and failing path.
Herein buds a cactus’ jewel,
herein life returns this fuel,
where all are part, where none alone,
one breath, one heart, one life, one bone…
jaybluepoems 