[ATC]

A song for the fifth day

Let it be said that sound is a single word, stretched
unto the skin -My tongue is the image
of your life. I am your secret verse
surfacing a Persian moon. This Rubaiyat is a treasure
that has no outward key.

Let it be clear that my blood flows in casks, my flesh
still weak. And my wisdom is a child on a street
without a heart spilling a stranger's soul on this March
day of fools. Still I return, my tongue commands me,
bid me rest under a vineyard gaze.

For the lives of the martyrs are written on labels of gold-
Like tongues, they rise and ease my hurt.

Pale I have cast my shadow unto your earth.
I've tilled the skies with the scent of your love
and though it rain nightly with the fruit of your touch,
must I seek the courage to find an answer to this tale?

Thus it has been for a lifetime of rust
my revolution is without a cause. I rise up
against the shades and with you, I shall have
conversations about the light.