Mihrab

They say the Garden of Eden blossomed here
long ago, and this is all that remains,
wind scorpions and dust, crow-like jays
cawing their raspy throats in memory
of a song, a ghost of beauty
lingering in the shadow’s fall.

Let me lie here and dream of a better life.
Let what beauty there is be lifted up
and given to the greater world
as I listen to the mouths of termites
eating of the earth, their bodies
drumming a rythm... more…

They say the Garden of Eden blossomed here
long ago, and this is all that remains,
wind scorpions and dust, crow-like jays
cawing their raspy throats in memory
of a song, a ghost of beauty
lingering in the shadow’s fall.

Let me lie here and dream of a better life.
Let what beauty there is be lifted up
and given to the greater world
as I listen to the mouths of termites
eating of the earth, their bodies
drumming a rythm in the soil, undaunted
in their blindness, by the millions
raising a skylined architecture
the blood moon must recognize with light.
let me stay here with these birds
and listen to their rough songs.

If I say the desert is an afterimage,
that birds serenade us, that the moon
is the heart of God shining in heaven,
that if there is a heaven it is
so deep within us we are overgrown,
that the day brings only a stripping of leaves
and by sundown we are exhausted,
then let it be, because if there is a definition
in the absence of light,
and if a ghost can wander amazed
through the days of its life, then it is me,
here in the Garden of Eden,
where it is impossible to let go
of what we love and what we’ve lost,
here, where the breath of God is our own.

by Brian Turner: Infantry team leader of the 3rd Stryker Brigade Combat team, 2nd Infantry Division. collapse »