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A Stone's Throw From a Glass House |
Lay upon my side in this still sunset,
arm cocked over my head so that only one eye
surveys a world through milky remembrance,
unfocused, rubbed raw visions swimming
in the cool embrace where I quietly watch,
hidden, without a sound, hidden, as you wash
your hair, unaware of me wrestling this uneasy truce
between my desires and respect for your privacy.
The clamour of war is a mere curio
while I watch the water stream in rivets
of imagination down your flawless skin,
the storm through which so many suffered
but a rumour while your breath moves
your breasts up and down, the famine
of the orphans lost at sea a meagre pause
while the sponge travels the roadmap of your legs.
I comprehend the awe Magdalene felt
when they pushed back the stone
to discover a miracle beyond understanding,
watching while the light dims with the hope
of this scene as more than voyeurism
in some unmarked scripture, watching until
you put away the moment as you disappear
into an evening where I never shall belong.
copyright 2005
Roger
Humes |
