day’s end again in Jerusalem
city of limestone, of bitter herbs
of dawn-rusted prayer, of covered
hair, of that side of the river
and this side, only the shit
in the water shares itself

equally, city of good tidings

of old news, of bad
new and old sirens
of silent pink glow now
on every dim limestone block

behind my pink hair i light

a rolled cigarette
aside some uncertain altar

stuck out like a navel ring

the horizon-divided sun:
daily anomaly of dying
light behind the steep mount
bone and dirt deep mound
of molecules tired and tongue-tied
with breakdown with uprise
mount and mounting:

all-fertile mother

who has not been made
a daughter yet. it should be your turn
Earth, to be babied. i pray
in tiny pillars of fire and ash

dear world-making particle, unstable

parent, decay into a daughter
same mass, more light
don’t ask why or when, this is how
the tiny inner earths tilt
till daughter is the mother
of man’s small part, particle

of continued

worlds. mother
decay gently
dear flamed
in me