Salt

As mind I'd like to have a storm of bees;
murmur;
pelicans to fly at the touch
of the same cold wind--
I want the sun defeated, ghost of a bat
pinned to a window.

Years have left salt on earth;
a place of sand,
whose inhabitants walk slowly and silent,
thick forests, white roads,
empty hillcrests, under a powerful moon.

The question, sharpest at times, unravels its knots in smoke;
then, a harpoon wants you.
I neglected how you crossed the forest,
chopped wood and took it home,
where you had half a church that was you,
how you set memories of dead children in a domino.

A rumor is being passed that my only quality
is to bend thoughts,
that I don't master them.
I started and gathered this rumor
and I gave it to you.
You have no strength but by pain,
in how you were cut and whipped and crushed and burned--
you are all-present, say like thirst
or like birds, or the fear of deep places.

It will be something when you are not anymore,
your halved church,
as if you couldn't take it all.