Tuesday, January 24, 2006

To Margaret whose face is so sad

and whose eyes pour out
a brown language of longing,
silence behind lips.
If I could follow the grief
which fills you
like a Madonna;
follow that sinful silence
into the well of your quiet heart,
I would learn the long walk of denial.
There is no white purification,
no everlasting mercy.
None of that. No redemption.
Only desire.

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