linens of Caravaggio
She lives beyond the craft of skin:distilled
of air and cellular addictions soaked skinless
Kissed into the vanishing held wordless
to an origami sky wrapped of you and I
into linens of Caravaggio.
Seekers of her innocence her windows
shed us of afternoons, where, like a city
slow to heal we are gathered of her gaze
and drink her torrent of still . . .
March 23rd, 2011