my only hymn

Too long have my eyes been

salt‑wells,  
each dawn a wound, each moon

a mask of grief,  
each sun a bitter chalice

poured upon my tongue.  

Love, sharp as a spear,

has swollen me  
where languor daggers

the marrow.  

O let the keel of my soul crack,  
let me founder

in the abyssal mush,  
to be swallowed whole

by the fathoms  
where silence is

my only hymn.

.