PLEASE TOUCH

exiled from your brethren
and your maker by
those who hate your voice

i almost didn’t find you this time

banished there to rusted
desolation under dying tree
a single leaf falling
brings no life to your iron stillness

though you still call
come and sing with me
take hold of me and ring
for do not touch does not apply

a less naked shade might conceal
your song more to their liking

but winter is my friend

i move in that barrenness
toward slivers of cold sunlight
cutting cross your name

for chris 2004

i am chris now

my hands drag fraying rope
and the tolling sprints
over brittle grass acres
to fill their ears
with rebellion’s sound
a triumphal siren that
drowns protestant screams