The Defense

“Awake and rise to my defense! Contend for me, my God and Lord.” – Psalm 35:23

Another rock on my back,

Obsidian, carved with

my name, my crime.

“Up the mountainside,”

Ordered my judge.

Her pale eyes saw

Me naked and scarred.

Beneath a pudgy exterior

I am waiting and cold.

Frostbitten fingers

Picked up each stone,

Bled from sharp edges.

I barely move.

I fake a limp.

The guide is nervous.

We must reach

The god of the mountain.

We must lay down

Our stones in starlight.

I see the lions in the brush.

Cerulean eyes catch

The sea beyond the cliff.

Hunger in waves.

They will wait.

High tide is coming.

At the top is a dead oak.

There I will be dead too.

Prop each stone.

Build one last song.

Stand.

Soldiers raise their

Guns in silver night.

In the distance

My bride sobs,

“How did it come to this?”

This was always my story.

Before the count.

Before the click,

The death powder,

A lion charges,

A naked beggar,

Blue and frozen.

Eyes like the Atlantic.

Stumbling.

Strong.

Legs of a sailor.

No teeth.

A wild grin.

He pounces,

Sinks his gums

Into my side.

I don’t bleed.

I weep.

Without my stones,

I fall.

Over the ledge with

Wings of laughter.

The shore catches us

Harshly like light to newborns.