I wrote this about a friend back in June 2004. In some ways it’s one of those “life got in our way” things, and in others it’s specific people – his fiance, my husband. In the end, though, it boils down to someone I was very close to, spending hours a day talking to, suddenly moving himself out of my life as much as he could manage – and doing it without warning. Sort of an on-going story in my life, isn’t it?
even without their holy circle
the magpies work their mourning song
nature holds time in her carnival
and the intolerable sweetness of water
glasses ground to dust
so tell me Chancellor
are we ready for dinner?
have the knives been bled?
and tell me Chancellor
who will guard your sleeping form?
from the assassins hiding under your bed
since we do or did – there
was a time was there when
Borgia’s Pass wrapped around me
i hate rabbits said in threes; looking up
like smoke you blew away from me
so tell me Chancellor
are we ready for dinner?
have the knives been bled?
and tell me Chancellor
who will guard your sleeping form?
from the assassins hiding under your bed
whose secret police are we running from
into whose arms do we run
the walls bleed blue
with pestilence hands, mildewed
reaching (as we)
run