Doug Roy, Fly Away Home, Cut Paper
A Part of You Is Here
I crave to sleep
Without calculating the hours,
Without mending the clocks
Or forecasting how life unfolds—how water
From a spring flows,
And how steps are tallied on the latest step counter.
How much a painting is measured,
As thunderbolt or scepter, or how furrowed brows
Would shelter the corners of my eyes,
Speaking fewer truths, greater beauty.
And conquer, ripple the hearts of men
Who hear my voice,
Who see my smile,
And ache to taste me,
How my lips whisper prophecies
Of unrushed lives, of lust, of love,
Of dreams, shell-like, nestled between the eyes.
Without ringing the bell,
Come to me already.
______________
Sheema Kalbasi