You would say root and I saw it,
the deep goodness of brittle earth.
Blossom, you’d sing, as I licked my lips & fell
against a hill of dirt, laughing at this, our good fortune.
There’s no way to say this: You stood in
for the god, or brought God with you.
And now nothing these days will do.
You sing, and if this were yours, it would sound true.
Here are my eyes, my heart. My lungs.
This is what issues from them.
Let them blow apart, cities under siege.
Let them be unrecognizable, unbeliever.
Raphael Maurice is a poet, translator, and teacher. He resides in Washington, MO where the river keeps its secrets.