Thursday, August 19, 2010

More Range

We are friends with the one who kills us,
who gives us to the ocean waves.

We love this death. Only ignorance says,
Put it off a while, day after tomorrow.

Do not avoid the knife.
This friend only seems fierce,
bringing your soul more range,
perching your falcon on a cliff of the wind.

Jesus on his cross, Hallaj on his.
Those absurd executions hold a secret.

Cautious cynics claim they know
what they are doing every minute, and why.

Submit to love without thinking,
as the sun rose this morning
recklessly extinguishing
our star-candle minds.