Stigmata of Love and Other Poems

Stigmata of Love

     This light, this fire that preys.
This gray scape that surrounds me.
This ache caused solely by one sole idea.
This anguish—of heaven, of earth, of hour.

     This blood cry, this blood that adorns
iris, now without pulse, slippery firebrand.
This weight—of the sea that batters me.
This scorpion that nests inside my chest.

     Love’s garland they make, and bed for the wounded,
where without sleep I dream you present
among the ruins of my chest, caved.

     And though I seek the summit of good sense,
your heart lays out a valley, sown
with hemlock and passion for bitter science.
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