On The Eve of Mark’s Baptism, My Defense

ANNALISE WOLF

The dying alone happens every day.
No baby lives without knocking for escape, for entrance.
“A heart alone is such a stone,” “whose parts are
as thy hand did frame” – thyself !
But, the heart alone.
Icon of the inward, outward folding of the god-man.
Fish-baby preserved in wax, inhabiting nor dry land nor sea:
waters of baptism salted from the beginning.
Salt of the brow etches baby's nerves.
A stone water-worn, a stone heart folded together,
salvation from. Exit or entrance? Or knocking for notice?

Thy servant rears a broken altar of uncut stone,
having witnessed our dead selves, carried our dead selves.
Eternity a mobius strip of hearts, persons, natures, entrances,
exits: that blade the present.
As long as your finger traces it recedes & beckons:
stress fibers flood the place of pressure.

The dying alone happens every day
– I never imagined we both could live.
Each part meets in this frame
– dying twinned & living too.
If my body chance to hold my peace
– keep her from sliding out of my bloodstream
(every baby catches a little) “lost to my flesh
forever.” The longer I hold her, the less it is peace,
and less waiting for her to stay.
Stones never cease.