Finding Shelter In The Silence Poem by Eric Cockrell

my tongue probes the leaves
of your forbidden tree...
you teach me the language of wetness.
ah, to die again and again,
in the deep wells of your eyes!
the side of your neck tastes
like the bank of the river.
i dive into the dark murkiness,
my teeth bared with pulsing need.
even the bark of the fallen tree,
rises and pants...
i groan, and nations fall!
you growl, and children are born!
who are we after all these years,
lovers, owls, bats, insects burning!
or the lonliness of god,
feeding on tiny eternities....
both the sound and the echo.
it is night then that we know...
infidels finding shelter in the silence