Quick Write

Two eyes in a forest, open wide
Look them about a blood drenched sky
Two feet, two hands incarnadine
Two hearts, one dead, one yet alive

'Mimara' she calls
'Mimara' I listen

Who am I, what am I, why do I bleed
where am I, why am I, what do I need
I stand with feet, bare save for the slick
I breathe between lips, dry save for the sick

I follow the voice that roused me from sleep
Each step as silent as the crush of the leaves
This shift, now cold, is still wet; it sticks
These legs, still weak, still move; in shifts

'Mimara' the name holds no meaning for me
'Mimara' what could an echo possibly mean

Two eyes in the forest, open white
Stare them about my blood drenched guise
Faded stone, faded robes, an outstretched hand
An hourglass missing, a trace of red sand

'Mimara' not her, so it must be me
'Mimara' through her eyes, I finally see

Quick Write

O bird
I brought you forth, but can’t find your wings
You speak words or sing songs, I can’t tell which
Can you sing words? Can you speak a song?
Can I break from my bonds and fly?
Not I
Not you
We are creatures resigned to futures we can’t see
We are sculptures, you and I, we can’t breathe
Hearts of stone, or oak, or something hard, dense
From a broken tower I watch the world die
Abandon pretence, swallow flames, become dirt
Weep with abandon and realize that you were part of the world
Part of what I let fall
How could you fly, when I took your wings?
So when the world fell, so did you
So when the world burned, where could you go?
Not up
Not out
What of me now? With nothing left
The loneliest man on the tallest tower
The man of many faults
The man of many hearts
I know I speak words, but they don’t sound like a song
I know I try, but the words seem wrong
The tune seems flat
More chanting, and barely that
To a tower, resigned
O bird
O bird
O bird