Lovely

Walking through the desert’s sands
Hearing her voice over and over again.
There is blood on your hands
From wh(o)ere you once have been
Fluid dimensions pass on over head
A lesson in physics realized too soon
She lies motionless, careless in your bed
Her empyrean silence playing an endless tune
To the beat of the footsteps pounding down
In the quartzite expanses too far from that bed
That still utters a laugh and then a frown
Upon hearing all that you have said
The quiet platitudes, the declarations
Of love, pleasant sweet and grand
Of slavery, and more painful lamentations
Long passed, feet running through the sand
And still she lays, tracks lead from her form
Past the past into the future you brought about
Like a mirror shattered and splintered, torn
From its wall space. A cry goes out.
It is her voice, silent, brooding, inert
Calling out to your pain, my hurt.

--Alexander Kulczycki