WHEN I COME FROM THE PLACE OF CRYING

when I come from the Place of Crying
the pitied the deceased
and in life absent
when I come when his hand shakes me
at night he divested his light entirely
and the tree’s verdure was purified in him from within
concealed between his wings a bird so black
the crickets are heard the buses desist
that moment I opened the walls
and the heavens blew into rooms
I call you now to answer me
despite my prayer’s silence in the mornings
despite the moth’s presence in my closet
despite my fullness with rusted talk
as I fell as you shake me as I rise
as I was my own enemy
when I come from the Place of Crying
I will come in lasting bliss
the pitied the deceased and her life yet alive
I will sparkle from the tears
and I will emerge I will not wonder yet that my day is so
dark for I far from discriminating
among all the kinds of precious darkness
for I still understand nothing about the illuminated night
I will thank you then for the orange beak
birth-giver of the sun with its song

WHEN I COME FROM THE PLACE OF CRYING