"My love, I fear the silence of your hands." - -Mahmoud Darwish

    Overnight, my heart, the forest has grown cold
    and every leaf shivers with the sure knowledge of its fall,
    shivers yellow and maple-red and mauve, Summer remembered
    in vermillion dying. When I walk the river now

    it bears merely the lightest press of feet, my body swaying
    to keep balance in the whetted breeze. I had to leave you
    on the absent shore, a warm bloom nesting in the reeds,
    an unfixed, iridescent eye. How we part

    only the morning knows, and what we said already dew.
    Tomorrow after tomorrow we will find the tongue to
    remember our silences, or borrow words from the night's
    vocabulary of sighs. Grief will teach you new names

    and I will answer, hollow, in drumbeats and echoes,
    in footsteps and softly closed doors, never looking
    at you, never back. I place these words now in the vault
    of sleep before it comes. Before the burial and the blood.

01 October 2002   23:34 hours
enlightenment { } fall theology