the seas all call each other. where are you going where are you going, they echo in clockwork unison, collapsing like tired children on deaf shores. and i, mute, can only regard them all with redundant silence. where are you going where are you going?
sometimes my heart sits, a quiet anchor, in swollen niches of sea. and sometimes it is a tiny fish, flailing in nets of farewells. i
go nowhere but the crags, the old garden of teeth that sneer at lines of horizon.
if you listen, you can hear the nonsense g-d issues from his smoky mouth. barukh atah adonai eloheinu melekh ha olam, o adonai they ripped the feathers from my throat, cursed me with sick vigils of flowers and hospice walls that shrugged (disinterested in the futility of life) and would you like huw's casket closed? i would like my own, another sleepless host for ash and worms.
hurry love hurry home to me the sky has lost his scarlet blush and it has been six days. i remember time who stuffs himself with grass that grows from the vacant eyes of our nameless dead, and men whose hours subside to the pungent dust of lonesome graves.
the world, it is wider than the void beyond – o adonai! the soul is not constant; it is the fat anchor satiated with rust of wanton days, shrill and fading laughter that resounds until the seas forget its pitiful song. v'higi'anu la z'man ha ze - adonai no i am alone
yes that but a stone,
a stone sustained forever, the sea's toothless dagger.