From the Fishouse

Gorgon or Hero, you flicker in the distance.
I fear what Time is doing to you. Storm of my heart,
doves whose bodies Time slices as it steals
closer wrapping its gray trench. I am a witness
to the way distance subtracts you from me, bleeds
colors, threatens by rattling bones
though I say your name, Resurrection.
Name of saints and martyrs. Prince of fire
lighting the mirror. Scry and find me here, an innocent
whose hands are still, whose mouth is a sock
full of diamonds, chicken feet, and oil. Whatever
will conjure, cleave you to me I will name and un-name
all the bramble and shards piling at my feet.