Theoria 6


Eyes: where the void
bore its truth

through the breath of your leaving
where the pupil

felt the lash
in your word –

the vowel is blistered,
the phonemes, driving,

splinters into the glittering iris
tearing us open in

blindness
in

the hope
of your

love induced, dawn sung
breath.

How many mornings did the 
sunset

how many futures did your
touch 

hold
open?

Not this world,
this life,

this
breath 

fatal
in the stream beyond leaving

our truth
sleeping

in your eye
before daybreak

resounding,
mute,

as the risen stars bore witness
in that lost word of hope:

tomorrow.