Where Love Is Ground to Wheat

J. Michael Martinez

for Maria Jesus Martinez

You were laid among lilies,

                 the thin skin of
                 the leaf, the interval, oak

                             pews bowing beneath the weight.

                 If a stone were cast, your mouth
                 would be the well anchoring the water's

                 wish. And the word you would speak
                 in that incommensurable depth

                             could unlock space with a paper key.

                             Beside the casket, I collect my tears
                             before they fall so I may look at you,

                 so the white down of children may fill the empty beaches again,
                 so the bees may store the honey

                             where mercy prepares the map
                             of the forgiven within us.

                                         We are too many skies,
                                         we who cling to the visible,

                             & the bread of my routines,

                                         now absent of you,
                                         are abundant with you.

More by J. Michael Martinez

Xicano

as light
               shaped by trajectory.

a wind settles in the body.
Echécatl the breath, the flint & spark.
the house of prayers.

I am

when sounds exchange questions
when light enters the lung
when given

the noun:                a variable absence
a law               pinned to a quail's wing.

White

               as the meat
               within the shell

as the shell before the caw

a bleached weed
               a fig
dusted to sweet the skin

egg albumen of peacock
               butterfly

held to the ivory of oxen hoof
               pulling
               the space

between sins               I am

               as I am so

the host               on the tongue
               God of Bread

complexion of conquest
               the salt of Lot

as God is
               a crown of thorn
               diadem of wheat

so am I the echo
calling fossil back to name

amaranth ash               spread across the light

Meister Eckhart's Sermon on Flowers and the Philosopher's Reply

A hollowed singularity exists in flowers 
like pathos in a dandelion: 
an eddy of fate, degreeless, 

silvering through memory.
A scabbed consonant departing
the sentence: locust petal, bromeliad, 

a surfacing shame, lightless, beyond hearing.
Solitary, the clock circumvents sound
and a horse importunes 

a wasp bowing before significance.


                     ●


It is in fact doubtless a wasp bows before significance
degreeless in a dandelion.

It also stands to reason that, in a clock, locusts circumvent memory 
in order to depart through fate.

And anyone can see that singularity exists lightless
like an eddy of pathos surfacing beyond hearing.

In conclusion, however solitary 
(and you know this as well as I), 

a consonant will always 
depart the sentence before shamed by a horse.