Sometimes,
When life looks in both directions,
And can staple itself
Against Hell’s ceiling
And Heaven’s floor,
We can realize we’ve stepped over stones that float
Atop blood and marrow
That swim in the heads of those ambitious
Enough to follow their own voice.
Oh, love
With either end to see the lady through
To the garden,
To the front of a temple,
Beauty has an image
And it is a broken one.
She does not smile,
Because the mirror has done that
For her.
Place me at the front of the story
To see a world become envisioned.
It is for the reason
That my ambitions have eclipsed my heart
From a love I should have,
From a heart I should savor
With each droplet of its blood
That quivers
Beneath the shielding sun.
