[Here's another of B.N.'s marvelous poems; please enjoy!]
Faith
Mercy is when you get
a clear shot
you take it. The animal's
legs give way
and crumble under him.
We know how to betray
the dead with beauty,
making each bruise gorgeous,
the mark a prophesy
spot, and each heart
immaculate.
For months we've lived
in the house with
peeling wallpaper,
alongside a child's stars pointing
home, and a stick figure
etched on the wall underneath,
thinking very little
of a sad child.
I need to feel the body
move. Jazz or blue.
Suddenly everything is strange
and exquisite. Perishing
is a blessing,
the world closes behind us
and the birds' wings
open like hymnals.
B.N.
© to the author, 1983-2009