The Mahdi Times The Mahdi Times Issue #23 October 2014 | Page 77

sowing visions that oscillate in our wombs bearing radiant forms as the substrate of our form. When I look to the compass needle I see a blade of humility bent to a force waylaid like wild rain channelled in sewer pipes. Running underground in concrete canals that quiver, laughing up at us as though we were lost in the sky-world with no channel for our ride. I am listening for a sound in your voice, past the scrub terrain of your door where my ear is listening on the other side. Beneath your heart where words go awkward and light consumes the delicate construction of mingled lives. I can only listen for the sound I know is there, glittering in that unpronounceable, stateless state quarried of limbs so innocent they mend the flesh of hearts.