Grave

I spill my blood across the hands

Of your ever-present, effervescent sentry.

We have a love that reinvents itself

A love like death without comparable end.

You are a fountain, a well of incendiary ink

Wherever our fractions meet, there is fire.

Each night I brace for sleep,

For the cold armless shadows drinking

Secretly of my quiet breath.

For the moment I am alone.

My eyes skim warped surfaces,

My lips gesture incoherently at a satellite

That has sweetly forgotten itself.

How could you forget her

When she has been afforded

No such luxury?

Would you forget the stars if shrouded?

How these veils embezzle and confound!

Beauty must be wept to be understood.

For each revelation another claws

From the breech of what was thought

To be a grave, a grave never lies

A grave never seeks for what

It does not know it is content to ponder.

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8 responses to “Grave

  1. C~ I am absolutely giddy over this!!! You are a brilliant poet, and this is magic. Seriously. 100% perfection, from start to finish. I’m particularly enamored of the first two stanzas and this line: “Beauty must be wept to be understood.”

    You should be VERY proud of this masterpiece.

  2. I love the double ,meaning in “grave,” which sets the poem up to be about death, but then you weave ghostery into the story in the first few lines.

    I read the opening lines as a suicide, but in this case, you’re killing yourself with his hands. He himself is a weapon, but he’s not even doing you damage; you’re just using him to do yourself damage. I love it! Girl, you’re so smart.

    Or wait … across the hands of his sentry. So is this another person standing guard over him? Or is he spliced into 2+ people? Maybe the part he presents first is “guard,” is thick-skinned and tough, so as to keep emotion at bay and to protect his tender side, which hangs back behind him. But you’re trying so hard to get to his center; you just have to get through “the tough guy” first. Man, is that hard.

    My goodness, I love this: “Wherever our fractions meet, there is fire.”

    Okay, so here’s what I’ve come up with: You and this man are married and have a daughter together. But she was kidnapped, and you’ve never found her. (How can a marriage survive that???) You’ve stayed together, but he’s so hard now; you can never quite seem to get to his heart. But you need to lean on him and suffer WITH him so that you can … not heal, really; but keep putting one foot in front of the other. He’s just inaccessible. But you’re bound to each other; you keep falling in love, but then he pushes you away. And how can you ever forget your daughter because you feel in your bones that she’s still alive, remembering you and hoping you’ll find her?

    I wonder if you’d almost feel relieved to have confirmation that she’s dead though. What a torment to wonder all those years. To never really know. How broken these two people would be. Ghosts, for sure.

  3. You are a fountain, a well of incendiary ink
    Wherever our fractions meet, there is fire.

    Beauty must be wept to be understood.
    For each revelation another claws
    From the breech of what was thought
    To be a grave, a grave never lies
    A grave never seeks for what
    It does not know it is content to ponder.

    Oooff. What a stunning ending! Love it Yves! 😀

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