Enfants au Paradis


We were lepers
clinging to a myth of Christ in rags;
the laying on
of hands.
We were beggars
naked, fainting in the heat of day.

I awoke to find you
staring at my empty hands,
searching for the smallest open wound,
finding only bruises, scars,
washing the blood
from my palms with your tears,
drying my hands with your hair.



JDP 98/04




Copyright John D Porter © 1998



[List of Poems]