Poetica Spontenaium 03.26.04
I held my hands in the gesture of prayer,
to my lips
head bowed
eyes sealed
as if I could sanctify and make clean
the stain of shame that had come forth
from our last exchange.
These were my thoughts last night
before casting out into the sea of dreams
where I reeled and made myself sick
with the tumult of lost chances
In the grinding twist of chance
Where once there was safety and comfort
In your hand, only chill, and ignomy remained.
The thing I’ve learned from the Devil
is that we share a trait in vanity.
The thing I’ve learned from God
is that I am too far from him.
And you.
Always you.
Too far from you.
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