Sta. Rosa

Posted by M on December 19, 19101 at 02:03:34:

Difficult to see his name
without donning a wistful smile
a twist of the mouth
a shake of the head

I wish I could pluck
words out of his mouth
a bittersweet plum, flesh
firm and ripe

He is still my refuge
when it feels so all alone
that the wind howls to itself
"Where have all the poets gone?"

I wonder if he knows how many nights
I sit at his feet, watch and listen
trying to learn, so I won't repeat
the same mistakes again
to see the world through his eyes
to feel through his heart
to write through his hands

How often do I unbury
gilded boxes, wherein lie
two beloved pictures
folded papers with wishful,
lustful words
a bedroom voice sealed into a silvery tape

More often, I leave them where
they are, to keep them as it was

When poets and consciences of the world were more than one

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