October Kite
I went to the cemetery
and picked the sorrow-colored souls
out of their graves,
as if they were gray roses,
plucking them out of their tombs,
out of those dead stone bushes,
some of their sins cut my fingers like thorns,
wounds from sins, eternal bruises,
external wombs on my skin
where poison blood is constantly born.
I pushed a little deeper
into that black garden of blooming death
and then I laid them down
like an impatient lover,
sewing them into a giant kite
like a lonely mother,
attaching them closer together,
lips to lips
and hips to hips.
In the end,
they resembled a humongous gray moon,
I flew that enormous kite
to block out the sparkling sun.
An elephant-shaped eclipse on a string
will darken all soon
so we all can rest in an eternal night,
reminiscent of a grave,
reminiscent of how it felt in your arms.