Cary Briel

I cannot–
will not–
release or part from you,
O man.
You ask
as dawn approaches fast
from night.

All through this night I’ve asked
a thousand times,
who am I,
and who are you?
I turn to ask
but you just smile, as if I know
or should.

How I am bruised and black
amidst this snow!
Did we not love,
first, I, on top
then you,
while angels faces turned blue
with fright?

Why couldn’t you have loved me
for who I was
where I was?
Who lied and said that I could love above–
with you below–
that the sun
could reflect the moon’s glow?

Prophet, no.
Teacher, no.
There is no food.
The members of my household
eat
each
other.

What is your name
O man–
you
who pulled me to the depths
of hell–
of love?
Bless me.