Leaving Gram Behind

Photograph by Dominique Tarlé

There was nothing of yourself you showed us, after all—
the dimmest refraction was all it took
to make my world go away
and that of the rare bird suddenly singing
appear from nowhere—
so little came, but that was all, in the end, that I could take.

For innocence needs no defense
but occasionally it seems we need a whispered hint
that the words of the corrupted are not the whole truth.
But to say a word in return that's not
as inarticulate as the wind
is an equal crime.

The suggestion there's a soul beneath
the Jeshua Tree, fighting, even crying
still shows that shameful glow
of Earth, of sin, of mortality's weight.
Angelic eyes have no mouth
and lizards voice the sacred from the mud.

Some babies never can stop crying,
they never learn to cultivate
the space inside their heads.