Will You Call Upon Me?
Will you call upon me to show you the sunrise?
I know her well.
I have seen her break free from merciless jet
black stretches of sky, at odds with its bright stars.
I have felt her cold breath on the nape of neck on those sobering autumn mornings,
when I catch her dispersing the midnight clouds in pools of sorbet blood.
If you’d ask me please,
I would say that the sunrise has saved me from myself .
Eternally, she will have an arm outstretched to liberate me from tearful evenings,
to carry me to that new day being born of her searing skin.
Six in the morning—
Will you wake up with me at that hour?
For that is when I know her best,
when she shows herself to me.
Then she’s gone, lost in between fences, car doors, office walls.
Like a night-time lover, she is gone.
Will you call upon me then to show you dusk?
The escapee, the apathetic criminal that stole sunset’s haunting cloak,
to throw it in a fire.
Dusk has a face I long to forget – yet, I know him well.
I feel as if I’m choking as he spoils green grass, blacksmithing
Grey spears facing up towards the heavens.
Ask me about my withdrawn father Dusk
or our holy lady Sunrise. I will answer;
spirit illuminated by my twilight.