Sanctity Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Flush out thorns
from a heavy log
of you rolled
over bog and sludge.

Raise and hold out
hyssops to your
breeze of self carried

and borne with
folded-up sleeves
and a buttoned
gown, as you bow

and kneel down
at a zephyr's altar
to pour out
petals from your
deep inner self,

as you crush thorns
nibbling off
your thin spidery skin.

(ii)

Clear out all clouds
into a dump
and set it in flames

to gulp down
crow tails
of a stretched night,
leaving ashes
to rise back

with the powder
of a bright day
to sit by heliotropes
amid spurting candles

lighting up your path
through
this night of a world,
an ant hole,

the deep bubbling
gorge to clean out
with the sinking
winding iron rod

of a an orison running
to the doors
of white heather
to fence you in.

(iii)

Let beaming palisades
hold firm
round a walking house
of you on wheels,

as a honeysuckle
strokes your clinging
hand stretched
out to the firmament.

The slow-flying
pigeon nods
by the low trumpeting dove
carrying a clove
for a tree growing
into the sky's tower.