Jonathan Goodman – Beloved

Jonathan Goodman


The beloved is a white bell
whose sound is linked
to the trees bending gently

over rivers that begin
where the great oceans end;
no sound escaped the harsh

land and climate where
prayers come and go
with such astonishing swiftness

the eye begins to tire
of the mountains hiding
their ill-preparedness with song.

How far away, then,
the bit of beauty
that I run towards,

more than halfway
entangled with the cry
of a woman barely sleeping:

see how her breath
rises and falls
in imitation of the skies;

she stand alone, at the end
of a map she herself
has devised, in the hope

that someone else might
refuse to grieve.  The river
shouts out, “No truth

anywhere,” but somewhere else,
in a place unmarked,
lacking boundaries or words,

pale birds echo
her unassailable worth,
their speechless twittering

the pure commentary
of a heart no longer
in conflict with itself.

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