The Blood by Matthew Milia

The black figure of my body above your window as you’re dreaming
I came to wake you and take you up north
The yard was wet, the heavens forget the way things are seeming
For us who must stumble in yards dark as horses

Your dream went like this, John the Baptist came back vapor-veiled
With grand expectations for what he had started
And you couldn’t resist, you gave him the gist about how things failed
And how all but one fire-heart had departed

And that you were her, and you were sure
That you had the Blood, that you had the Blood
That all is made of
And that is alright, that is alright
I can’t think of a better dove
To carry the Blood

The canal was bright, its innards ignite when moon stretches tight
To show the cargo the floating is gliding
The edges are dark, it’s channeled by bark, it carries the mark
Of every speckle of guilt I was hiding

The bathroom does taste of menstruation chasing night-musk through window screen
Like wounded doves all pretty things bleed
Like my highway dream, Judas redeemed for the one kiss he rode on
Our spirits ride canals and never in deeds

Deeds do go, and deeds do not
Carry the Blood, carry the Blood
That all is made of
Carry it right, all through the night
Till you see what we are of
A dove that carries the Blood