The invention of music
After the pain
The stretching
Sore willow wood
At strained resin arias
Each violin cried
For a great truth
Poetry
Break me gently
Be spilled your light this
song has been the companion
Of my soul for before I was born
Hushing followed like a quiet
A cracking home and the walls
Fall down to you bowed
Sentries silk and armor
Labor
Labor of my soul, lover
Of myself, go gently
Into glory, you spoke
Me into life.
One secret gentle in abundance
Explored me tender ‘til
I find myself a small surrender
A last memory framed
in grass and light where
Walks an angel savior of my silent
Soul, humble and old
Ancient friend, ahead of me
before.
A small crack
Into eternity render me
Oh most love, sweet ripe and life
And the pain of over beauty
And the bigness of heavens
The sounds in this sky and all skies
Jewels in and out of myself
Encrusting the very birth of
Every new possible
Every growth in light
The birth of lights and
Awe in everlasting
Everlasting
Everlasting
Last.
The majesty
Is
Always
Stars.
You struck the rock, prophet
with a shovel until
yellow cryptograms strewn out
rose in the breeze relieved the
rustling of bible leaves on your neck.
Broke your voice for us like
a pomegranate offered me a seed
with pain in your face I liked
to stare at and searching
my head frantic, your eyes were a little boy
some treasure always spread encrusted
under the first layer of earth
handed us linens and grandmother quilts
to cover over ground. You ached
for a death
we’d need to stir the dirt
a stir perhaps pull out a waif
in your old clothes. people-
clients told me despite it all
I looked like the soul
of my father. A sacred pause
in me each instance. That night
I stirred through my head words
to find a gentle lure for your ghost
without you even knowing.
I am a commercial
With a missing leg oh this
A story I’ll tell loudly
Smiling
I sensed a chorus underground
Lurched the shoes and smoke,
would break cathedrals in half
when it sounded up from the rock.
In a dirty limestone city of Christ
The underworldly plains rolled out
bruising skies, and birds the size
of men, who rattled in their clothes
The gems between their fingers
glittered like red stars from roofs
and opening the thick black dirt
grew and grew a quiet coliseum the
voices marching up
Ana Celeste Poetry 