Where Water Walks on Us

                    i. Wax & Wane

As pepper falls to cedar-wood,
     scent of the desert calls to me,
     mysticism in every
     boiling stone thrown under feet too
     heavy to be my own, being
     alone so long a wanderer’s
     calling, following moonlit paths
     through fragrances of my dark past
     seeking after a light oil quests
     to ignite, passion waxing thread
     my life twists between fingers thick
     with residue extravagant
     lies weep as I lacquer this wick,
     taking with me into this night
     a candle, food for my journey,
     exile’s burning viaticum
     improving no one and proving
     nothing, since purification
     is something welling up within,
     a fever sweating existence.

                    ii. Immolate

Caution the cost of unicorns,
     a tribute paid to pace forward,
     past those monstrous things no author
     of bestiary books ever
     illuminates, leopard-footed
     waves of heat prowling desert floors,
     taking under its angel-winged
     breadth anchorites, inquisitors,
     exiles, and all whose human flesh
     itches to strip of itself wealth,
     if only for a moment, to
     experience eternity’s
     devouring depths, under which sin
     is cleansed by furnace breath, its claws
     trimmed to a length impossible
     to inflict damage, should seasons
     in sultry countries turn pilgrim
     palms to seditious fists only
     sinners, demons, and foreigners
     can vanquish, making pain mystic.