Apr 162012

In you I taste my death, your mouth the open
Corners of my grave, damp clay ochre and dun;
Your arms like gravediggers hold me round
And lower me helpless to the sucking ground.
Here, in your mouth, live the roots of many things,
Many ripening vines; incantations and songs;
Buried in you are deep emeralds, mines of nickel and lead,
Rivers of ore coursing among the buried.
So much comes so deeply from touching you,
Breathing you in; even in this final suffocation, you
Remain dark and compelling–of you I can see no end,
Although the earth you are composed of has an end.
You are measureless, endless and supreme–
A depth beneath which no man may dream.

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