The Facsimile

“Wake up!” she cried, slapping his cheek.
A lifeless head, still, limp.
“I am here.” Startled, she slipped.
Taken aback.

A facsimile? She turned around to this galley slave,
His half body standing out from the burying place,
Shovel over his shoulder, insolent gaze.
Smooth as tarmac.

She looked down at this lifeless soul,
His red lips, green eyes, etched into cuneiform
Across his sinless face. Cold, but warm.
Hair jet black.

“That part of me is now dead,” snorted the renege,
He shovelled deeper into his own grave,
Raining black moulded loam.
Memorial plaque.


Dried petals of black stained skin
Peel around the edge of
Her wrinkled fingers. Waterlogged by blood.
A dehydrated beat, slowing, slow that
She wakens it with a gentle tap.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispers to her heart,
Her palms embalmed around the organ.

The alkali sea sheets the sand beneath her
Soft, golden sponge.
Cushion to her knees, moored as she sinks,
Absorbed into the coast, married, merged.
The angel beside her is scourged.
“Let it go,” he whispers,
A snag of perpetuum love fruitless on the shore.

The covenant of salt betrayed by a bitter bluff.
Sisyphean obscenity,
Each ventricle perish to decay as she
Still waits for one little hello, hello, say hello.
Her heart cracks to ash.
“I loved him,” she bemoaned.
Now a statue frozen to stone.


Her stained toes clutch to the narrow cliff-edge.
Prepared, crumbled stone trickle softly down
the overhang. Tap tap tap, a musical echo drops like
blood from the crucified lesions punctured over her crown.

“Go!” the cruel wind blows, his arm the hem of her dress
pointing east, a guide to follow the stones.
A cool sting pricks over her pierced skin painted, abstract
slashes of red over her legs that shudder her weak bones.

An exhausted sigh thunders from her bruised chest, escaping,
quaking soundwaves electrify over the earth. She closes her eyes.
“No one cares,” he blowed, trumpeting apocalypse bellows
through the storm, convincing this leap of faith toward her demise.

The ligneous branch pinches the back of her neck, stopping, no
longer dropping as He hoists and cradles her back. Swooned,
a bride submitting for the first time under the shadow of His trunk.
His emerald foliage kissing drops of ointment over her wounds.

A growing cushion of grass crochets patterns on her healing skin,
distilled oils juice from sweet smelling resin that palliate
the mourning. His leaves gently stroke over her aching chest,
ecstatic awakening, frozen that unfolds a delighted state.

Fingers of black moulded loam unearth from the roots below,
blanketing over as He draws her in, enraptured, tears of love
captured by the soil as she sinks into the ground. Her kernal heart
cracking seeds that sprout a new tree into the heavens above.