Elizabeth Robinson
καθαροί
Faith smells like peat,
is damp underfoot, leaves
a residue that is smoke and not
smoke, the finest varnish who
gilds
cheeks wan with fasting.
Where there are two humans
there will always be
dualism:
the pale and the golden,
the Adam and the Eve
the example and its antonym who
resolve into perfection.
*
Consolamentum
Faith is smothered in its demise, a branch
split in two
guides error away
from itself.
And all night the fountain pours
its voice
out as though this: this random array
in nature, fruiting in daylight,
famished in mistral. As when
the things of the earth are made
to vanish into themselves, like saliva
reclaimed by the throat.
*
Like the seed moaning in the testicle.
Any likeness at all.
The body is a hope born in betrayal.
Finally, it forgives itself.
*
You understand:
perfect.
The candle directs itself
not to burn for the light
but to show the honeyed wax to
molt from the wick.
*
Exemplum
Imagine Mary Magdalene
naked at baptism. From behind
her shoulders part
from each other revealing
her neck, the crown
of her head, the unnecessary
odor of bee’s wax
furling back, furrowing
immediate to her
neck, spine, and
down, this
trace the filament
to her tailbone. Plural light
forced into itself.
*
Hips, womb, the rind of the wick
steps from itself, forced into itself
incandescent lit
incarceration—perceiver
forbidden to perceive.
*
The river’s surface steams.
Milk excretes itself on a lost tongue.
Faith, briefly indentured to life.
Faith smells like peat,
is damp underfoot, leaves
a residue that is smoke and not
smoke, the finest varnish who
gilds
cheeks wan with fasting.
Where there are two humans
there will always be
dualism:
the pale and the golden,
the Adam and the Eve
the example and its antonym who
resolve into perfection.
*
Consolamentum
Faith is smothered in its demise, a branch
split in two
guides error away
from itself.
And all night the fountain pours
its voice
out as though this: this random array
in nature, fruiting in daylight,
famished in mistral. As when
the things of the earth are made
to vanish into themselves, like saliva
reclaimed by the throat.
*
Like the seed moaning in the testicle.
Any likeness at all.
The body is a hope born in betrayal.
Finally, it forgives itself.
*
You understand:
perfect.
The candle directs itself
not to burn for the light
but to show the honeyed wax to
molt from the wick.
*
Exemplum
Imagine Mary Magdalene
naked at baptism. From behind
her shoulders part
from each other revealing
her neck, the crown
of her head, the unnecessary
odor of bee’s wax
furling back, furrowing
immediate to her
neck, spine, and
down, this
trace the filament
to her tailbone. Plural light
forced into itself.
*
Hips, womb, the rind of the wick
steps from itself, forced into itself
incandescent lit
incarceration—perceiver
forbidden to perceive.
*
The river’s surface steams.
Milk excretes itself on a lost tongue.
Faith, briefly indentured to life.