On Bended Knee
I knew
who you were.
Before you spoke.
When the light still danced
at your back.
Sliding.
Around you.
Marking you black.
And I felt your look.
Burning me.
As you passed
through my hands.
Back.
Into the fires
you raised at my feet.
Look.
Here.
At my palms.
Carried face up
in the moonlight.
And read me.
My scars.
These sacred sermons.
Are a legacy
of a dirty-haired angel.
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