ISSN 1758-6488
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Four poems Poetry |
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The Silent Brother
Here I am - come closer -
a charcoal figure etched in straw,
surrounded by every blessed thing
and, if you will, nursing the trivial
comings and goings as data
that will never amount to anything.
My handkerchief is blood-flecked,
I throw my whistle to the crowd,
I am down to one key.
And if company bids welcome
and the spirit withdraws,
what shrinks away is that riddle
of diminishing light, the intrigue
from back street welding yards
and the honeyed winter heat,
a fleece within fleece
for the sake of a circus of sparks.
But I know,
like a seed stitched in a
Dutch merchant’s wallet
awaiting its bead of dye,
all music lies adjacent
to music, and I can live forever
on the notes of a Kyrie Eleison.
