Oaths and Psalms- Kevin Heaton

by Kevin Heaton| 1st Place Adult (CSRA) 2012

Evening, early solstice—the greater
of two lights reflects on adding dayspin
to the sun; still ruminant and in the dark
about the weather. A single Carolina

rosebush awaits her yellow ribbons,
and that first dance beside a sipping
stream. I am not a warrior poet—
musicians are passive men—byline

silhouettes with twenty-dollar bills
and slices of frozen pizza. I will not offer
you vinegar on a sponge at the point
of a spear, or track your rem sleep

from sleuth shadows—there are trimmed
candles in my pocket—I plant tulip
bulbs in snowmelt. Oaths are like psalms.
Flesh is never weak that wets a finger

in the wind, to divine a way to share
another’s burden—death can only break
the vows we pledge to let it part.

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