3

God knows the number of my foes
Who see in me a hollow reed
Set before the blade

But pure the form,
The breath my voice:
A shield sustained by song.

Answered sap is strong:
A balm of bliss and peace
Unshaken by the clack

Of chattering jaws;
Hills of bone and sliding teeth,
Broken in the blood and dust.

All of me and mine
Sustained by song—
The simple note that's answered long.


© Dan Goorevitch, 1998