In a murky limpid place
you speak to me, vanquish my
anxieties with your radiant flame,
speak and say
the circumference is the sphere, is the line
and the space beyond
Cruelty is natural, mercy takes effort,
Accepting mercy takes even more, a leap
out of the perpetual karma-shadows, a daring
to be without a past or a people or pebble stones
in your shoes.
You speak and say
succumb, and I will take your greed of self-knowledge,
all of your knowing, intelligence, reduce it to vapour,
collapse your preconceptions with the tranquility of
the first morning, and you will praise me with the wonder
of all who are newborn, without guise or storages.
Fall down, you say, to your hands and knees.
Look up, you say, to the charity of the sky.
Your being that was before is burned.
You say, love,
and I will be your restitution,
your water, your vortex, your art.
Copyright © 2021 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Chicago Record Magazine” March 2021
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