More die from old age.
If the rubber gloves of death are velvet,
at least it is no living death.
Still, what difference would there be . . .
Who could know what happens after . . .
A lifetime later miracles begin:
for me the patience to listen,
for you the room to teach.
Give me rein. I love to ride if you love
me to. Is that being even . . .
If love is miracle it's that only
through living with love's mystery,
with no need to know for certain,
no words to tell what quickens life
before it ends. And who would want to know . . .
For whom would I speak if I did . . .
Are there words that would weave a spell
nothing human is known to do . . .
And without questions,
what answers . . . Horses transport the coffin.
Are our lives filled in by dots with spaces
between . . . Their hooves were muffled beforehand,
they gave passage into silence.
The Garden of Eden we invented.
We needed to make a home the Master
would believe was His only.
He had to try to slay the serpent once
His excessive pride was violated.
She had named the animals, all
Eve saw surrounding her while Adam slept.
Then she saw one more. Were Adam awake
he would know the snake lay between his legs.
They heard the Master shout, Be gone!
Learn to die while living with pain,
earning nothing I don't give you!
Thus the I became inviolable.
In the land of Nod
the unhappy son murdered his brother.
The Master meted out His crass justice:
The mark on Cain’s brow,
promise of resurrection for Abel.
Adam and Eve kept on working.
How could the Master love His slaves
once He lost control . . .
Why would slaves ask . . .
They are human, not He.
(13 January 2012)
copyright 2012 by Floyce Alexander