Silent

Silent

A chorus of genuflections filtered through the kitchen

ventilator and knelt beside my bed around midnight.

I knew Georgina was dead. My rocking chair peeled

its mahogany finish in her honor.

There were loud knocks at the door. Neighbors  

packing axioms, guns, crucifixes, shovels.

“Hi, we were wondering about the odor?”

It’s not coming from here, I’m not dead yet.

Occasionally, I see apparitions of myself

standing by the window, behind the shower curtain,

but I still go fly fishing.

Mother came to me in a dream last night, gave me the password

to a house where boas reincarnate into possessed lizards

catching mosquitoes on maracas. She said, everything spoken

becomes water, blends.

I am going to stop talking for seven years,

but first let me repeat this a few more

times

Harmonizing the sacred          Harmonizing the sacred

            Harmonizing the sacred

Sanctus

Sanctus

Sanctus