what to live on, what to believe in

without that,
i hate the metallic bruises,
deep cuts of concrete,
the illusory consciences,
the yellow sky that comes and goes.

and how i hate to hear words
blunt, false and crass:
to hear them speak who fraction truth with names
and carelessly dispel mysteries
that harbor eternity in loops of white belief -
deeply harmonizing orbits
keeping breath and souls,
and bottomless- and beyond-ness
as surely twinned as music, ultraviolet, infrared and heat:
these are utter, inviolable and right.

here on earth, then,
let me kiss those words,
and breathe out paled old things,
selves husbanded and unwoven,
enshrined, and soon boxed up.
if i may, i will exhale suppressed
desires as inevitable as the moon's
designs upon the blue mantle,
unfathomable as all that deep water.
there are truths there so far down
that only our feet can reach,
while out above the waves
we still look up past the shifting sky,
you and i.

for a cure, i seek just such a kiss,
that understanding these, much could be won back
which had been lost.