To Be Laid Bare

To be laid bare, to surrender
between the lines
like sunlight through glass, like
flickering streetlights or
chanted prayer –
to wear midnight like a cloak,
collar drawn close to fend off
meaning; to drown by
moonlight, in reflection…
It’s this goddamned voice
in my head,
this yearning to confess
to let go
to offer myself up baptized in flame
to speak in tongues…
It’s that heartbeat, that
solitary throbbing
to the bone, all strings quivering,
the moment suspended to the end
of breathing, beyond sanctuary,
the lines so fine, so gently
drawn, so lightly marked:
there are no stones written on,