HYMN
you are like an open book
except it is in another language
and it is covered
with the granules
of your neediness
you offer me solace
that which
I seek, you seek
you will not find
it here
the landmarks point
me to your
effervescent spirit
then they abandon me in the
frothy
madness
in the dark
don't go-
(hiding)
playing
that solemn
prank upon
yourself,
upon me
you are an open book
except
it has only
torn paper
and missing words
and I cannot read it
take your psalmist
eyes out of me
you are
burning a hole
with your gratitude
and this attitude, silence
do not imprint yourself upon me
I am an open book
but I am longing
to be free
of this shelf
yet I fear
I will not close again
and you will
leaf
through me
and strip me of
my backing
of all of
my folded pages
worn by time
weathered
by
the furious
curiosity
of others
who have sought
that which you
seek
you will not
find it here
---Lee Zebede