Allon

Retreat, to the old gold bough
on furnaced lengthen legs of surplice dew
He is unsituated behind the terebinth,
below strange tongues with filament chapped lips
fencing two kisses on Ophra’s populated streets.

Unto you paradise is opened
I will be lasting in the small places. Go there, engulf your
limber eyes, your shoulders supple and vindicated on sui generis planes.

Your memories that are marching, inviting a cell enclave,
do not breath strange tongues for orchestrated lips,
they are deigning and laughing in stolen rivers seeing might.

Hatch through your chest to the hallowed bonds
denoting fair play on humble balcony chains
where pendant jewels exercise prosodic light.

Where there were two of us only I remain.
Excluded by her faithless denial in the systemic flowering
of localized passing and giving for life stanzas of fixed bars
under borrows clefs. Where claims of authenticity are strained
within the anonymity of the stolen timbre of this space.

Is it not my intention to impress upon you motivations for water,
but for you to find me here brushing silhouettes on tired curtains
swallowing salt pills and seeking God for the contours of your remedy.