Here is the ghost of a child I once knew
still playing among the withering harebells
& the gorgeous moue of the fairy flax.
I look beyond his bare golden head
to the kestrel that quarters the ramparts
& see a semblance of absolute love,
absolute mercy – at least a baffling, wild
joy – that, at least – in the watchfully poised
javelin of the head, the rapidity
of hér stoop & strike, hér failure, hér re-
lofting, the gaze that hungers into the spindle
without end: whose flowers are blood-red,
whose roots drive down among the lost chieftains.
A lonely god waits for us in the earth.
From: http://www.tupeloquarterly.com/seven-poems-by-toby-martinez-de-la-rivas/
Date: 2016
By: Toby Martinez de las Rivas (1983- )
From Troubles of The World 