I sit in my silent temple

I sit in my silent temple and
Mourn for each unanswered prayer.
I have in a bag of eyes
My scale and bones. 
In closed temperamental hands, I keep 
My measure: the speed of my falsity;
The weight of my verity.

My thoughts poised 
Beyond absolution. I practise 
Death with a good night's sleep.
I speak no words that
Would not speak for me, and
Endure the naked stare
Before I lay wasted, erased—submit

In secrecy—a stolen tongue
In silence—a black carrier that becomes
And just is. 
I sit through the stilling summer
With a fistful of hope, 
Recalling a terrible song 
And a very difficult name. 

Dale Chou
2012-05-22