Morn­ing hymn

The Iowa Review - - CAITLIN ROACH - Caitlin roach

af­ter E.M. Cio­ran a bit of blood this morn­ing—

stop try­ing, dear. I have told you I am im­mu­nized to faith, still I be­lieve in a tril­ogy of twins like us, in safe­keep­ing, in that blank con­sole, keeper of all our se­crets, etc.

what is it— are you so full, are you so sound & how is it you hoard all that chaos & still move so thick through rooms tak­ing with you the sta­sis of a kestrel in flight. if I held, if I blew you in my small hands, that sweet yel­low flesh would slip through as the quetsch plum meat falls from its pit.

stop be­ing so whole. be wary that I may grow tired of you, my sweet & your meet­ing god too fre­quently.

—still, come. glut this purged body. make it holy. the recipe needs, the mouth is call­ing for a lit­tle spit, a lit­tle salt & the hour’s hinge

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