Singing Stone (Dec. 14, 2004)

What I ferry here to our next shore
was married long ago in that burning bed
you entered and left without a word.
You held me head to your soft breasts
as I ranted crooned & swore, mouthing
every exquisite name of God inside
all the names I’ve thrown. How could
any words suffice to nail that embrace
fully down, much less hope tokeep it there?
By the third day you were gone, flowed on
to destines closed to my own fate’s stream.
But I remained at that pouring, incandescent
bed, sniffing every inch of blue for just one
floral trace of your kiss, other times nailed
to my knees surrendering the fury of what
it both annihilates and frees. Blue madonna,
this heart is that ancient stone the first
passion lifted from the sea, its orbit round
you oh-so-close but always just off shore.
Its music is hot with a silvered lucence
poured from that roaring sound I heard
when you clenched me and cried YES,
thus opening every psalter, flask and
fold-and-crashing door I ever hope to find.
My song’s a wax and wane in measure
to your empty and yet resonant tide:
May all the ink between our shores
slake that dragon squid who bid us ride
the wildest ocean for one night so many
lives ago. May this moon of that remembered
bliss ignite the indigo and path the next
course to you here tomorrow at the pad,
same time same place, same babel down
the falling spire of all you vaulted
in that sleepy face that just smiled
and closed blue eyes, never and always
to return. Singing stone, your eons marrow
my every endless shoring bone