Death

A vision begins through the eye
the spirit resolved in weaving
of fates intertwined and dying

You are woven without shame
the redemption is a cloth laid bare
and you stand in nakedness

Truth unfurls like a mast: blue,
uncontrollable, a bottomless meaning
on which we sail, ongoing
We ask ourselves this day
where the wind will take us
where the sea will wash us
are we cleansed in this process
by which we are taken
from sunlit harbor
to rainswept pier?

Uncontrollable, the rolling waves
The maker must be unmade
the vision must be born of blood
The lines of red must point the arrow
the death-drenched dirt of the unpaved road
These feet must walk, unprotected

Emotions born on stones
bleached white from summer suns, like bones
from those who came before, unmoved
by the promise that someday
the road would end.


D.B Rocca, 2011