STEEP HEART
The mystery of the Incas, how
they filed those giant stones
at the top of mountains
into close-fitting knots (above, below).
The slim knife-edge, the penetration.
On behalf of balance,
lamb-tethered violence...
one must die, for the sake of the nation.
Something about moss-covered stone,
arctic lichen. Colors
on a rough-hewn wall (yours,
mine). Collage of blood & bone.
Memory, mother of muses
lead me back to your
stone milk-splashed door.
Ancient well-bench (sea-roses).
The eunuchs of the kingdom come
& go... their simple habit
underneath the gibbet
simply to repeat the sacred OM.
Alpha, Omega. History unwinds.
He’s humble, sheepish
as a goat – Ish-
mael, or Solomon. Pay him no mind.
The one thing that happened, historically
was that an innocent nobody
became king for a day.
Steep heart, remind me... let us pray.
12.15.18
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