Distant voices, sentenced to bespeak,
settle for the emptiness to carry,
linger in the drops of heart on cheeks.
Stay with me, inhale the dusk. Be wary.

Have enough in lunges to ‘blah’ and ‘ah’.
Throaty doves depart and fly through Sigh-Land.
They will gather in the barque of Ra,
their cooing warms a soul that’s silent.

Angels of Salvation are cockcrows.
Need more eyes? Use third one as self-finder
for the world’s more strident as it grows.
I define the patience as my binder.

As dry wines, I’m squeezed. The tartness sneaks,
bobbles in the cooing – strives for settling.
Drop-by-drop – the heart slides over cheeks.
Should I fall, I’ll straighten shoulders greatly.

Take a look, the current burns and dies.
Angels of Salvation, yell up steeply.
Save me from this quoted world and I’ll,
as a wound of God, stay opened deeply...

17 February 2010