Robert Jacoby

My mind’s a cathedral, exploded in

My mind’s a cathedral, exploded in
Kaleidoscopic sun-stained glass
Blood splinters, nerved and lead-veined
Ruinous bones’ veneer
Of bleeding figurines, cloaked guilt
Whispered memory lingered under skin of water
Fragrant incense smokes significant
Sip the blessed nectar!
A thousand risen Christs shall shine
Exquisite solace of the sun
A thousand silent Christs burn
So Sing! choirs of doomed gods
Out of time and out of grace
Mount the quick altar crest!
Time’s teller parses bone from marrow and
My gargoyles inform me in my empty tomb:
The wisdom tree’s roots remain

The Reverse Funeral

Start at the empty tomb and rewind time

if you can.
Undo your dead.
Undo the dead and all their ghosts,

Do you dare call them from their tombs?


their mysteries,
their stuff of life.

What went wrong in the garden?
Why do you bleed?

Talk with your dead
Speak with your dead
Until you come screaming
out of them
back to you.

And know that not
all want to be raised
or need to be.
Some have had enough.
The dead roam the earth
sprung from rocks.

Our steps to the grave are watched over silently.
Leave the graveyard while you can.

about the author


13.1 (Fall 2008)   The 2River View