castigatores

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it's not that
i don't want to yet - something is requiring
a silence
as if my mind were in a library forbidden to speak
my eyes cast in stone

at night i whisper -
trace furtive stains hidden on walls when no one is looking

cottonwood
malachite
zanzibar

as if praising things by name
calling
brothers or kin
singing contours and lines into being
with the sound of my voice
desire
swaying elements into purpose

and sadness echoes in the hollow
knowing i remember
snow
and saltpeter
the sound of rain in solitude
campfires in august
the shape of your trust

when time was a grain of wood
forming from a seed

when cold was lava rock
cooling in the mist

when man was a quivering child
his grace embedded in a lie

your memories clung to me
joyful
exhuberant
unleashed

like so many oceans caressing my face
of leaves in a wind
a time of growing
when laughter and loving came before wanting

wanting instead of waiting
another life when i wasn't
who i am