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Consider, O Lord, how You sit atop the sky;like a man in a glass bottom boat.Consider sky elsewhere; worn thin as a mattress.

Cecilia Llompart

Consider, O Lord, how You sit atop the sky;like a man in a glass bottom boat.Consider sky elsewhere; worn thin as a mattress.

Cecilia Llompart
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That dandy, the sky, enters blue-suitedsun like a scotch in hand.
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I know my breasts, smallas plums, would win no blue ribbons.But in your hands they tremble and fillwith song like plump, white birds.
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Consider, O Lover, my throatwhite as cigarette paper.The crushed lavender of my knuckles.tMy heart, a dulled needle threaded throughtoo many patterns.
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Consider my Lover; the yellow churchof his skin, the clean wells of his ears;How the notes of a song come to himlike birds descending on a power line;How in his absence I am of twothroats--each of them cramped.
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Winter is already a lost shape, forgottenin the ground. Instead, here is Springwith all the grace of a womansmoothing out her apron.
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Darkness moves like a pack of wild dogs.The wind moves like a wounded animal.The ground must be full of teeth by now.
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Consider the road, long and forkedas the Devil’s own tongue.Consider the Devil, burningevery bridge; Placingin every tree a black bird. tIn every bird a black thought.
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There are boneswaiting for names in the graveyards.Even the sun above us is dying, onelanded repetition of light at a time.
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