HERE
This vast, great emptinessis warm, sun-drenched, soil
coursing through my cold veins.
I can’t,
for the life of me,
find me here.
Everything is almond cake.
This heavy-scented silence
is days of quiet, running-rain
oil-soaking this dry, old skin.
I can’t,
for the life of me,
find You here.
Nothing wears its own face.
In this sweet, bewildered state
You drip your best wine, deep
into my hungry, milk-weaned heart.
I can’t,
for the life of me,
find us here.
How is it, then,
that You hold me fast?
JAMES RQ CLARK
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PHOTO © WOLF ADEMEIT
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