Mortal

Gazing a horizon's bloody wound,
The line severs night and day,
My heart echoes a wolf cry moon,
Holding back the ache's tidal sway,
A drowning gasp in a flailing swoon,
As soul from soul in endless stray.

And two halves of a soul sunder,
Whose eyes through the looking glass?
Bleeding storm, and pain and thunder,
Stumbling helpless, entangled morass.
As Love is sought, like so much plunder,
The broken table hosts a broken Mass.

Somewhere, in the places of the heart,
Wounds rift chasms that none can heal,
A flow carves clefts — like a deep rampart,
Where fetal framed eyes in quiet, steel,
For the throes that hew mere life 'to art,
For what the drying of oceans will reveal.

The wound —
Mortal,
Mystic,
Breath.