Visitors

Life rains down on my nomadic skin
Calcifying the death that beats
Beneath drum-stretched time
Making me believe I could forgive
Myself for wanting to know more
About the blooming orange stranger
Alive in my brain.

Forgive the traveler in my heart, life,
He is closer to the bones at home
In their graves;
Burn down the churches I have built
On the back of my own imagination;
They are a heavy cargo
And my feet begin to crumble
From the weight.

Wake me to the stranger's songs,
Forgive his odd unfleshy rhythm
Curve my body to the identical beat
That pulses in my deepest sin.