Swan Song

1 August 2017

i have spent these small infinities
calculating whether or not
God is made of paper
*
i omit breath with an ocean in my veins
drowning beneath the plunge
of your golden resurrection
*
there are swans
monitoring the swamp of moss bourbon
silent as they awaken a warning
complimented by sky birds
we must abandon these bodies at dawn
*
on the carpet of no one’s grass
my body is folded
as i drink the colour
of his moon fingers
i am reminded that
if we become inaudible
soft trees will break the fall
*
if this is all that is left
of our apocalypse then
why am i still here?
*
that fragile cathedral
you lay your bones inside at night
bathes her floor
with the salt of bleach
*
patience removes the rings
from my boned fingers
as i prepare to throw my body
beneath the tears of waves
*
carrying nightfall in my palms
i begin to remind myself
of your skull’s absence
i look on as a lighthouse
begins to burn

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