But to Descend

I imagined you a seasonal refrain,

a cold embellishment of sopping truth,

having snagged her loins on the craggy teeth

at the mouth of the sea, torn open her flesh,

but made it back to us, somehow. 

 

I will never be the same

and I shall always be changed. 

In this, the consolation,

the wet terror of the truth, of

truth herself, red-footed, walking,

walking like miles were her eyes

blinking fervently, but she longed

to gaze opening into the sky,

as I saw her then, bold woman

who had not yet come to know

the dark hands of weary men. 

 

She was lost out into the canyon

too long ago for me to perfectly

envision her again. I tried to recover

the corpse of her body from the abyss,

but to descend, one must strip oneself

of longing and the very desire

that had sent thee down in the first place,

so that, on finding truth,

a mangled mess of light

at the floor of the world, I could not

bring myself to carry her

back to the scorch.

11/08/2016

Capilano University

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2018

atazargarof@gmail.com

BC, Canada