THE DISAPPEARED
Air corrodes the colour from clouds
a beating butterfly spins into
rainwater, falls into the sun
reflected in the
pool.
Deep in the earth the bats
are dying, deeper than a tree’s
roots the worms are retreating.
Our own lives intersect into
raptures.
A denuded saint wept in the sand dunes
I saw the blood flowing from his
temples. I saw the thorn dig into
his side. I saw the rib a cradle of
Christ.
It rained the morning we
entered Zagreb. The church spires
caught the early sunlight; so many
we used them to count out our lost
loves.
The butterfly breathed in an entire
universe, a microcosm lost between
the many times we arrive, balancing
the many times we need to
depart
Follow us: