Plaguing Wind

I die a taste of death—our glory; and love—a tint of birth—

Our story. My golden angel: your life—a mother’s soul; and

We perish, a Russian death. Alive, my heart, my father’s shame;

And death, my core, a mother’s flame. Plus voice—our

Resurrection—such glory. Cleave to joy, disregard our pain.

We journey a familiar death, crying wind. And see the soul, a

Voice of verbs; and feel the love, the death of tears. So much

To live, a mayfly dance; and such, my life, a daughter’s smile.

And I war, my love: lost, the philosophic. Thus the crane, a

Weight of sin; and thus, the heart, the shrill of prose. My gifted

Heart, I’m so indebted: a prayer a day. If not the pain, a shallow

Soul; and if not the joy, a voiceless soul. I cry silence, afraid

To speak; and cry the vocal, afraid to die. Know the love, the

Grain of God; and know the light, a swan-ic song.