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Monday, September 10, 2007

Plains of Tendering

we tried to mend fences
with kisses, hurt, injured
lips that nail shut all hope
of building anything
that stands again,

fingers preach of loss,
runaway horses
they buck and bruise
these plains of tendering,

our bodies tell us
that our souls no longer
stagger in their sheds
for each other's open air,

the present moment
locked whatever could have come,
caught on the cold air
word of something dreadful that only

those still in love
might know how to neutralise,
if only we were as wise
as our bodies,

to speak less,
and move more.

Read more from The Body Gospel >>

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