Your worries, a mansion too high
for me to glide over without wings.
I would have stolen you and slay
whatever stays our way to wedge us
for loneliness to stitch its venom
into us again. How can you be
alone in these walls where fears
come in the regalia of night and
nightmares are too impatient to
wait for darkness to swallow light.
A feather of a holy bird won’t do
the magic; at least, there’s a sign
of light in the outskirts of a cave,
a home for the bruised, longing
for the promised light, like crystals.
I do not fear if these walls have ears
like the one in the tales grandpa
told me. Poke your ears into the flesh
of these walls, and hear the deluge
of songs like the rain in Noah’s day.
Echo it aloud; you must return into
your body before the next dawn.