poem 6 of a poem a day for 2012

antiqued

(only desire wants a new name every time)

or is it piqued
the pock-marked delves
shelves carved
silent bladed
shaded content bent
for profit
then lent

again

control
for comfort

again

we sin
to scream

or to dream
what love seems
to leak when
let go of
ourselves

again

hording
or at least
bagging up
what we can
ignore while the slow
hissing sounds
of Winter
are bleeding
and know how
our seeds read
the shadow runes
of each Jesus
we have painted
in palmed maps
on our hands
that find blind
rhythms have
more color
than flowers
or fruit,
roots sending
pillars leaning
to the sky

again

fingers,folded
prayers,to win
clasped

again

all the way
home

again
again
again

we circle
each different soul
we need
and knead
for the same love
each time

again
again
again

we know
that love
always finds
what fines
the finest
parts
of who
we might be
might become
might as well
share now
with you
and me
as we
know
that freedom
comes waving
the waded
cost of entry

EJR (c)