You Cry Down the Arroyo like Flood-Waters
I’m stretching my faith
beyond my face.
Reaching for a pinnacle,
or a pinprick.
Any
evidence
of holding something
secret or sacred.
willowing warm water
that even when muddy
still washes clean,
or breast milk whose
silence feeds young minds
with the knowledge of ancients.
This is the warmth I look for
when I’m reaching for you.
Determined to hold on
to something solid.
Your shadow’s slipping through,
whispering between my fingers
“can’t you see?
these blood-warmed thighs
give birth to no
homes, farms or football teams.
dry tears for lost labors.
this space between the legs
where only famine is born.
i don’t want to leave you hungry”
You slip loose,
to be with the fragments
of faith that haunt you.
Somewhere down the arroyo,
I hear the wind in your lungs.
Billowing, like sails.
Unsown, I’m ear to earth
to be near you.
Zachary Kluckman
http://www.poemhunter.com/
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