not the slaked thirst of Bayazid
by Gabriel RosenstockOriginal Language Irish & English
Dar Óma
not the slaked thirst
of Bayazid
but the prayer of the Prophet
eternally on my lips:
more thirst
like a dog
my tongue hangs out
asleep or awake
how could it be different
I lick Your dew
from grass
howling
I create thunder storms
the air fills
with Your rain
long after it has ceased
trees drip
Your sound
I hear it
even when not listening
seeping
deeper than roots
-- from Uttering Her Name, by Gabriel Rosenstock |
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