The realms we conquer

Some Faltered Grace

We trace the afternoon along places our softened bones
don’t matter, between broad avenues built for breathing,
draws no bird has ever scattered from, underground dens
the moon slips into when we are asleep and not looking.

Here we set footings for provinces we shall one day call memory,
prepare places for scent and sense to be stored in secret until we
wish to call them up in fathoms of night, savor them dearly as
we press too near perimeters such wakefulness cannot trespass.

There are countries in your breasts as there are oceans in
the strictures of my massifs, territories given only to the wander
and trek we commence by embracing what remains unnavigable;
light-hectares seeded with a tenuous silk of trailing sighs.

These are the realms we conquer in laying down arms, rendering
unto vanquishers we have summoned in our midst, who release us
into our driven natures where we grasp the meaning of losing this;
find hope in some faltered grace to once again chance upon it.

Joseph Gallo
August 21, 2008