Friday, April 23, 2010


Mercy is like a plume of cotton
Blooming from the blue bed of the sea
With starlit strands that divide
The water's glassy dimensions.

Mercy is like a spray of dandelions
Dancing in a billowing sweep,
The fragile yield of such things
Earthbound to seed.

There is no mercy for myself,
Only a fumbling caress
That must suffice to summon
The illusion of intimacy.

My mercy must come
Bursting from the earth
Like a fist of grass
In exaltation.

I will sing for your sanction
With a smoky voice of hope
And the faith that all things
Can live again.

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