the secret

I.

i'd have hoped that,

by now,

i'd have heard that

warbling hymn. but,

patiently though

i waited,

it never came.

of course,

without fail,--

in the full glare

of my own ignorance--

i returned each day,

hoping for a glimpse

of anyone's apotheosis.

II.

beyond here,--

i've heard--

in the shape of

some earth,

there are silent gods,

laying down for

an eternal sleep.

(was it there in which

i was torn loose from

my bearings?)

III.

here,

an unquenchable flame

is tasked to burn, and,

though nothing

lives here anymore,

i did want it to be different.

for a girl,

any other would have

wanted this.

for myself,

i don't think i know how.

IV.

that mound,--

that blemish among

the earth--

i can see,

is clearly the focal point

of this exalted ground.

after all,

beyond here,

there is an eternity

(or so they say).

(my life is just for this.)

V.

to whom it may concern,

consider:

a door broken from its hinges, or

a man in ancient anger, or

a stone in the heart--

anything else,

but this.

it's true:

i couldn't have waited

a single generation longer.

and,

anyway,

the pestilence that stalked

each one of us did die--

a martyrdom on its own.

VI.

that night,

i recall that i

carved parallel lines

into the surface of the wood,

exposing the white

fibers within.

with a pen stolen

from that visiting monk,

could i have etched in

my own last words?

VII.

you weren't even a drunk.