Come On In

bathe us in madness, madden the mountain, flirt with the woman, cure the crazy, raise the dead, demand the Viaticum ... through a tiny hole in the rusted lock of the patio gate that opens to the garden and to the rooftop of my eyes signifying nothing more than the key itself and its click which discloses a view of living room, dining room, kitchen, bedroom, cradle, chifforobe, figures of saints, a bed with its headboard and someone there, you, slowly incorporating yourself, an empty space at your side while, in the air, the I-can't-say-more or I've gone mute. And the thunder, the tempest, the lightning flashes, all that electric charge, mere background which rhymes with profound. Something like a spear whizzing: come on in, you're home

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