deceit is weight: it rises from your feet
like moisture trapped between the jousts
your soul and mind conduct behind your face
above your daily deficit in consciousness
and always in between our hearts
maligning every grace.
its lightness then escapes like mist
exudes from cracks you make in each of these
as life at first prevails in you, impaled too soon
upon mortality.


this seeping cataract is bled from both
the vital core you spear with every effort
to subvert eternal destiny
and from the you I reach beyond.
shortly, you have settled but a moment in this dance
yet think you Whole and gloried in some victory;
covert in lightness it is not dispersed by rest
but more and denser made, will rise
a fog to ride the currents of inconstancy.


at last it comes
and what was weightless first when formed
has made its way through space and time
a gathering mass, not droplets now
but gelled, its path the channel made in hope
by me for you: it comes
it comes upon my day unbid, unheralded;
it comes astride my night in suffocating heaviness;
it comes into my heart then claims a part of what is mine
to be its own, until I reckon with its density.
it comes and comes until I will no longer suffer silence
from my soul, and I at last agree to test its shape
to taste its breath, to kiss
this unseen enemy.


and when I’ve done I know its name
I note its birth, and vanquish its potential with that light:
departing me, its loss of worth will resonate for you as well
until the next occasion you resume your senseless fight.





© 29 July 1999, Sugarpie Rabbit
In the Face of Love: The Book of the Beloved
SPR © 14 February 2007, Sugarpie Rabbit

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