the buried saint

the saint buried on the hill lost his love inside of

some woman he prayed with on dirt streets

in dark corners of city eyes they knelt and water poured down

they wept out to god and held their hands together;

his nearly liquid skin kissing her taut shadow by fits;

we seek out your saving we sing out your name

we have lost our hope in all but you oh lord

he buried his head in her hair and his hands in her back

left his breath and the world somewhere deep in taut skin

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