FROM “BABYLON,” A WORK IN PROGRESS

I feel
the tides within me
pull toward the mysteries.

I see
angels drown
in the river as they flock
to drink from the Holy Grail,
taste the metal on their lips
amidst the rustle of wings.

I hear
circus sounds
just over the razor edge
of the distant horizon,
sunset a long, low orange.

I see
ghosts dance alone
on their own tombstones,
crumbled in the weeds.

I see
civilization’s walls
destroyed by passions,
heat of bodies twined.

I feel
time collect like dust
on the ruins of what was,
shivers in the desert air.

I see
the gateway
to the gods’ confusion,
locked in centuries of rust.

I feel
the tides within us,
and the mysteries of you.