There will always be a place for you;
A little song book in the heart,
With rumpled once-wet pages,
And a song’s half-baked black start.
You can call after me
All you like, in the night
Like a spry black bird
Like a stone in mid-flight.
I’ll hold up my face//
My last love cloaks your hammer
(I’ll wear your torn lace
If you speak my stammer).
I meet you again on the path of this spiral.
You will drink from my cup
of sweet indigo ink.
Forgiveness the nectar,
your plump lips stained pink,
Again I fill up- still I rise (though I sink).
I alone hold the plaque in my heart marked ‘beloved’
I alone tear the bread and break the cups on the stone
I alone walk the spiral
I alone mend my bones
Now you count all your fingers and hang up the phone
I alone walk this torn path, sew the end to the start
(But Bless you for the beating,
For the beating of my heart).