All I Can Do

All I can do for you
is take your hand and softly
lure you to the quietude
that surrounds your wound,
enfolding the remnant of this breath
in what is so hollow it glows.
No sorrow survives that silence.
It is like a mirror.
Look, I am holding it up for you.
Stories come and go there,
mists sighing on glass.
They are not who you are.
You are the possibility, the clarity itself.
Now slip into the insouciant beauty
of your gossamer Witness.
If you have no faith, use mine,
this shattered beaker of bone.
Follow the blood from sepulcher to sea
and fling your heart into orbit around stillness.
Be the untethered gaze
that sees from every star,
encircling absence with a wider absence.
Let loss be the illuminated door.
And what if your path does not lead
to the next moment, but deeper
into this one?
Hush now, the eloquent don't cry.
Catch a full moon in your
quivering web of emptiness.
Be Winter sun in a white seed,
offering your shadow back
to what is not yet created.
They father fire who fall in love with night
and taste a scarlet berry in the void.