L' Arc de Triomphe

the morning pounds its fists into my head
with the throbbing in my heart
colour drowns in the Cuyahoga
leaves
fall, lonely soldiers floating
in foreign lands

I walk the path of my Mother, silenced
for all eternity were it not for her voice
inside my head.

"Come, my daughter, see how I love
you still, let me embrace your suffering,
my birthing pain."

I ride the currents of a steadfast wind
leading me here, there
an eager chevalier kisses my brow,
stars burn with fervor, passion and compassion
meld me into compromise

I remember no words of my Father
his book is untarnished  
without memory, the sands of time
owe no apology:
life is death
and death is life
I live between empty pages

the fleur-de-lis
tattooed upon my breath.