THE WALL

 

 

The bolted door

And walls meant to keep you safe from beyond

To make one feel

Rested from the tumult

Life as rest, expectation,

And the constant unrest of the moved.

One expects a knock on the door

The walls keep you in a shell, a crack

One expects tumbling roofs, opening crevices

Warmth flowing and passing you by

The chill of ancient cemeteries

Lips of stone, smoke and clouds

Hanging sweetness of berries unseen

Ants extracting sand

And filling the wall with pass ways of air.

God enters through the window

A whiff of air, wings of glass

A canopy spreading over the unseen

Marking the room with its outside.

The yam vine climbing up

Running on live wire

Eyes that are lost in time

Opening into the past or future

Domes that were crushed

Voyages of bleeding feet.

The canoe of joined lines

Of your palms held together

Moves slowly on

A memory climbs in

And seats itself

Turning one’s body into its sweet aide

A soothing hand playing

On a torso of taut veins

In the miracle of love.

Lightning crosses the street

Disappearing in a flash round the corner

Eye lashes bear the weight of

Those that went by

Follicles of bodily hair

Kinetic, movement without sound

Hot blood crazily cruise through the veins

A dark tree of many blossoms

Opening in the night

Fragrance reaching out

And setting afire up-turned nostrils.

.

The walls that lock you in

Playing deliberately between shelter and limit

Manicured hands meeting long nails fitted in gloves

Masked speech, irregular beats

Carved into the dark cave wall

Bats taking flight, as if frightened by the void.