Colleen Bazdarich
Incantation's Bloody Fingers
Held on by the
pale of your skin
Held by faith
and by stars
that barely rank
amongst the stars
hung in the sky,
held by dust and dark
matter and the turning,
turning, turning of the
matter in our heads.
Because I have found
you at the end of these
broken down days
Because this skin begins
and ends at the tips
of your sanguine fingers
Because I have stretched out
on your broken found body
Because your touch
is a hole cut through flesh
Because I cannot hope
to touch you like
fingers and skin
beginning, beginning
beginning where I end.
Since I lick the knife
and am sliced thick
as blood water.
And then not at all.
Since I lick the knife
and hold the moon's
single cleanliness.
Since I lick the knife
as it stretches from
the nape where all thick
and juice flow, where we
all are found, the belted planets
about our heads, water
stretched over stars like sky.
Since I lick the knife and
am held by all that is flowing
and lovely and alone.
I lick this bloodied knife
and am unabashed in finding,
bloodying, holding always you.