Three Poems

Temple

Waking up to whitewashed plasterboard,
jettisoned by my pride I grew
to love this: because this was the only way
I could continue. How the tide repealed us,
then erased itself. Maybe the house,
with its palm trees, was more alive than I was.
Barely there, I was visible to others
as though by a miracle. Enjoyed the homage
of warm smiles on my shining skull. We each moved
in a private orbit and yet conflicted gravity
tore up the paths of everyone. Messes of human forces.
The flimsy world shone back with anger
like an immovable sun. My room was all buoyancy and air.
Little blessings, like worry beads or rosary beads,
were counted until my tongue swelled up and balked
...