August Nights

Tomorrow I will be hanged.
I woke up, physical urgency has to go
A picture of Golgotha
To Trinity be praised
My blood, water to arid mesh
Brushed, perfumed my breath
Tomorrow, after today it will be done
Washed my hands, foamed untouched
Because tomorrow, I will ascend
Lined pillows like jets

From the sepulcher of mind
Checked locks and loops
My agonies long offered for you
Then hot water in a cup, for one
Will reap fields of golden pears
Sat for a while, and folded knees in front Jesu and Hannibal
My bequest –
Tomorrow, after today, I will be a different person
Might be late, bustled like a horse
And now in my summit

Some plaster on my ankle, slip feet into flip flops, legs into dark denim pants
And in my last remaining days – will be daring seventh tides
A blue ring on thumb, and one more sapphire
August beats your heart and mine, in one arrow, pinned in God’s collar.

rose flores rosevoc2 

also on poemhunter.com

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