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coffeeshoppoems
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the ascetic
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it is my turn to sit beside the lilac blossoms
with my questions
continuing the work
of demolished bronze statues.
translating the sweet cooing of birds
who tore out
from the village
when news of the war came.
a sparrow's dispatch:
the soldier captains
have stopped sweeping the town
for young men.
the virgins sigh,
relieved
throwing cats from their laps
running,
running
hot blood pours through the young lips
long hair is caught in a breeze,
reunions
they come out of hiding,
from the hills
the trap doors
the wine cellars
silence.
silence.
evening has fallen
below my tree.
the celebrations have quieted
into a dim fire's light
coals
like these stars
where i shout out my questions
of the Way
remembering her face
when it was another time
and i lived among the scents and dances
of human beings
kissing her and saying
there will be no space between us
there will be no war
there is no war
only violet death
the blooms and fragrances
floating here
on the same wind that says she was
and is no longer
and i am tired of sitting beside the lilac blossoms with my questions.
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