Allegory

for M.H.


Mouthsifted down to breath,
down to the silence of the Cross

conceived, sieved
through a surgeon’s glove,

under skin, under terra firma, under
archives of pain--- the two of us induced

into this purgatory
before blind Justice,

who holds a nerve like a tablet
in each hand; two roots

in which the buried
find themselves awake again.