by Anne Elezabeth Pluto



the emerald parlor

remembered, come yourself

to convince me now impose

yourself firm to the

maroon furrow

that is my heart.

Interloper, make your mayhem

here, where I have been

miserable - christen me

this burglar

who has stolen time and

time again my sins rise,

duplicate with yours,

a column of white ash,

our own promiscuous rupture

of faith.  I will give

you back the way home

assent from the cross

gnaw through me to my bone

and there write beautiful

the names of all

our dead in your salt

milk  be my confessor

coax me, plunge sincere

the epistle of silence

handwriting on the wall

and beside me, the cross

lay sown, mount me glaring

move finally bruised

in the disjointed

homily of sex from which

we will abstain, but

not to disappoint, the

long lure of love burns

celestial in the dark

to domesticate the night,

each star numerous

in its power to assail us

now, in our charter of rebirth.