Entombment of Christ
The sound of tomorrow lost,
in my skull of yesterday
sores the tendons to twist.
Calmness, breathe pictures across
phosphoros flickering vertical holds,
of an eye, explicable which is so glassy.
I do not want you.
But you reside,
drips of me in liquid,
the frosted flower, red lava to the soil.
My tremulous life reels you,
casts out into the ocean,
cuts loose, floats, everything sinks.
Irretrievably as the sun,
enfolds my twilight, then stars,
than you, as tears carry on.
B. Garth Steinhagen
© Copyright 2016 B Garth Steinhagen. All rights reserved.