Perspective

I am chained to the earth to pay for the freedom of my eyes.

            Antonio Porchia, Voces, 1943




I sigh upon your words, Abilene,
albeit whispered to your hearing,
but oh, so centered on your bearing;
a breeze of breath upon your neck
in thin diversity of hallowed air.
 
   this station point
   of picture plane

brushed with latent zeal
as you shapeshift
through eye’s perspective,
drawing close to point of vanish
where parallels meet in touch
above common ground line.

so like a surveyor, Abilene;
in transit of measure
from pulpit to pew.

sketched languidly broad
then, softly shaded,
narrower through noun
with each horizontal stroke
of vertical verb against adjective,
until only participles are left
   
    dangling
    in sighed unsaid

like a mute Christ, crucified
for the faith we cannot utter