Monday, December 13, 2021
On Our Knees in Secret
A scratching in the walls, mice probably, nesting up for winter. Distant holiday lights, as perhaps Bethlehem might appear to certain travelers, or Jerusalem to certain others. I don't bother with candles or the lantern or poetry, just accept the modern age and answer emails, happy as always with any evidence of love. Vast plains in the cosmos are not uninhabited, all of us coupling in ways that don't readily fit into language. Yet Thanksgiving passed quietly, me and the horses alone together, the whole world a child dozing on flannel sheets while adults talk quietly in another room what to do now the war is come. Secrets: did I mention secrets. In a dream I shout about the cosmos waking up to itself in our bodies, and everyone is bored and annoyed, but I wake up hard, breathless, and jack off in the dark, imagining you. Stars sweep slowly over the river, sparks of white light drifting across an enormous onyx hearth. The discipline inherent in any prayer, the one we profess before the collective, the one we swallow on our knees in secret. The salt of God always our one shared throat. Om shanti shanti shanti, amen.
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