Stolen

Her lips sell magic
even still
and God,
do I believe them

she moves me toward religion
with every word
retraced, and knows
that quiet song
in seeking death's embrace

somehow I hear her singing,
screaming. Somehow
I touch her face...

as I have watched her fall
in madness, cry tears of love
to blackest rain, now she is left there
in those tortured hours
(she never meant to claim)

so I am guilty
as the others-
breathing want into her ashes
in search of some new sanity;
denying sweet escape

So selfishly, we guard her pleas
still craving how she searches...

10/13/2006