I am too small, too frail
For my mouth to utter
These words.

It is evening. The sounds
Have a crispness to them,
Like jicama.

A chair prevents my body
From collapse–all strength
Gathers to worship
When love becomes sacrosanct.

My young muscles raise a song
Of the body.

Somewhere a priest
Speaks of Christ on the cross,
Christ in the heart.

Today I beheld a woman
Of a beauty that is man’s
Yearning for God.

From her voice a voice stirred
Within my heart, and fled with passion
To escape me:

“You are my soulmate,”
I trembled to speak.

Now I tremble to hear
What is not mine returned to me.

Waiting, I observe the twilight
Give every dull rock, every dull face
A crepuscular sadness.

Written on Wednesday, April 14th, 2004