I can’t ignore the warmth
on the nape of my neck,
the words sinking and shuffling beneath what has been
already settled. The sky itself is a tabernacle,
even its shadows illuminated from within.
The phrases are already rising into my throat
rough and sour as bile. My whole body is being
sung, hums with a disembodied song. I can feel
harmonies pushing at the backs of my eyes.
My feet are thick with sin, tired and heavy,
yet they carry me forward. My mind no longer
even calls to my deaf flesh, and the words are loosened
from some hidden place,
echo briefly before leaving my lips.
I am only an overflowing cistern,
or old vessels filled to bursting;
a dead tree flowering, some dry womb opened.
The word is like turned milk or hardened honey to my tongue.
Yet who reaps where they have not sown?
Who raises up ladders for thieves?
Who burns without being consumed?
Who sends the ram to be caught in the thistle?
S1L1,2,3: pure genius, and keeps getting better as you keep reading.
S1L4,5: I’m a little skeptical about the way the repetition in “themselves”/”itself” is done.
S2L2: rough- great word!
S2,3: “my whole body is being sung”- i love this unconventional use of the verb and object, and what it entails. These stanzas resonate with me, as one who has often worshiped God despite feeling unworthy and hypocritical.
S4L1,2: the way the quantity disagreement is executed between “cistern” and “vessels” seems weak to me. i think it could be done better while still keeping the disagreement.
S4L4: hardened honey is simultaneously delicious and gross. also, i like the word choice and alliteration.
S5: This stanza almost feels like it’s falling into iambic triameter for three lines, but the last line jerks that rhythm to a halt. I would have preferred a smoother ending… maybe by re-ordering the lines, reworking the last line, or something else? It could be that this is the effect you’re going for, in which case go for it. I guess rough endings might stick better in the mind. These are four profound questions/statements.