Gayle Harvey



Abandoning disguise, any gratitude

for the faithless, he curls into himself

like paper burning—

It’s an old movie.

Dead-bolts exaggerate the silence.

Deep inside himself, he remembers the careless languages

of salvation.  Exotic.  Unashamed—Everything

all of a sudden.

But time is passing, moving the air

as breath does.


He opens the door.  Remedies gleam.

Cracks appear

in the tireless dark—

There’s no strangeness

he cannot love.

Copyright © 2003 Gayle Harvey.  All Rights Reserved.

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