To Poison the Lion
Damn the barren apple tree. Damn this hour
bruised by owls, the meteors interrupting the sky.
The organ plays its own requiem
as angels crawl the walls of the cathedral
trying to get back in. Take my sorrow, I beg,
but there is only one sadness here.
It is the most vulnerable part of the trinity,
and the most abiding. When a cyclone touched
the earth and offered paradise to those
who would enter, I sought the lion’s den.
The knife in my hand wanted to be dangerous.
Smoke wanted to hold the burning city’s silhouette
but surrendered it to the wind. I poisoned myself
to poison the lion, but when I arrived, it was dead.
Vultures tugged at its ribs with nervous bravery.
The changing body hummed its clumsy music. 