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. 

You had a secret name fermenting

Under my tongue. I smiled and

It went yellow in my mouth.

 

A budding unseen burial

Ring shinnied silver tones

In my bone where you were

 

This is what you do in

Tiny doses. My medication

Never beamed old history lights

 

Or pinstripe lights your fingertips

Through a womb of dust

Stirred a new pigment.

 

I cupped the back of my hand neatly in your corners

Like a wave.

If your blue eyes had a breeze they would,

The cool wash up through

Force

Stone dank and dark underdown

Archaic stairsteps

My soundproof head capsuled

In the moss

Until you touched it

Neatly unfurling and so quickly

Untangling in an inhale like ink in water—