A CROSS TO BARE

Round, broad strokes,
splash thick plaster against bare walls
that peel away like paper
shedding skin over broken sores.
A backcloth drawn up high with colours blue
now yellow,
Stretch long and taught
as pale skies entomb restless nights
The rib that lay near beneath and far too close
to heart plucked from our essential body
He - the iron grill that shield our breast ...
and lung gone...
Silently, I sip from silver chalice
where ebb flow into raw salt
and balm rubs acid hard against a bruised soul
Grey thoughts ...dissipate
melting to into a boiling mix
vanish then fold into a bubble
falling then rising to over flow, spilling rains
that splatter across a dry earth
Dust falls to hang a curtain over the Sun
winds burn naked against a shivering soul
Body rigidly fix after a cold night
thawimg into a soden heap
drenched in salve from a golden Sun -
a balm from Giliad
(c)Dawn Victoria Hanna 2007