Beneath the Robe

Black-white robed women, 
God's wives; you never see
their bodies beneath the cloth-

only eyes.  

Beautiful eyes
whose iris broken

pieces of prayer.

This Place like Cyanide

The unlocked body, my own
dark garment thrown-off curved like
hip bone but sharper. 

Every year the stones thrown 
farther, without aim hits any target
harder like a cruel game.

This shore, its hoary shelf,
lightless room without a bearing wall
calls and calls my name

in a moment like cyanide
infects the vein, disappears in smoke
and still I hear it calling

"Rachel, Rachel".