Through the Wall

This morning I left my bed With reticence in my bones. The old house shifted and settled In another transitional place. The car groaned changes of metal Unlike what I came to expect. Conservative witches chant How maintenance is all worth, How we must hold onto illusion Despite the human expense, How the fixing of the form Preserves the meanings we make. But what of matter matters? The temple will have to fall. The force that feeds the image Is hungry to have it back; And pain from feeling this motion Is born in confinements of minds. If I could question the Source, I would beg it to clarify Hints moving through my blood Of the many reduced to the one. I would ask if matter and I As a part of it commune. If the war on the external edge Addresses my fall or my flaw, My vision is forced to meander Beneath its localized light. I cannot stop moving for guilt Over dreams played out in the dark. I realize some who retain Find it imposition to give. I know a well measured cup Diminishes even by drops. I suspect that my fear of death Is forgetting how to touch. Yet all of these changes remind How love can rend and flow Through the hardest mental wall, How passages render all hope. And how the most saddening death Can nourish another life.