Poem #3

I know he said that it has past
but we have been walking for 25 years now
and I still haven’t seen M. or Jack

we have left the proper amount of stones at each pass
the animal skin burned at the end of each month
the fifth season a time of fasting

my night, sleeping
I lean over to your breaths
my name written on your forehead

the dissolved ocean takes my children
who cautiously walk along the sandy cliffs
in the mornings

the garrets ark
the nameless drunk who calls us God
fucking our daughters while we walk

singing his bard
counting saturn’s rings
pressing that horn to his chapped lips

when we began
my shadow
fell like a wingless bird on the needles

now I possess only these words
these ballads
that I carry naked with this pile of tribal taboos

By S. Izenberg