a Markov Sonnet; after George Abraham                                         

Though tungsten-framed, the truth is not unlike water.
Let me say it, what I must before Night casts its cloak.
Somewhere, a photograph of me in yellow uniform.

*

Before Night casts its dark cloak, let me say what I must.
Somewhere, there is a photograph of me in yellow uniform

The same shade as the teeth of memory. My shirt: undone.

*

Somewhere, there is a photograph of me in yellow uniform

The same shade as the teeth of memory. My shirt undone
By the kind of hunger one can never rid one’s body of.

*

Undone, my shirt’s the same shade as the teeth of memory.
There is a kind of hunger one can never rid the body of.

Much like the body is a church, the body is a library.

*

I have the kind of body one can never rid of hunger.

Much like the body is a church, the body is a library.

There’s nothing made that cannot be unmade by hands.

*
 

Much like the body is a church, my body is a library

Of nothing that, made by hands, cannot be unmade.
What is a life if not a seam, a song unstitched by Time?

*

Is there a thing made that cannot be unmade by hands?
A life is never what it seems. A song unstitched by Time

Is trapped inside my body. I’ve always wanted its escape.

*
 

A song unstitched by Time, a life is never what it seems.

I’m trapped inside a body I have always wanted to escape.
Inside this poem, the truth is crouching on all fours.
 

*

I’m trapped inside this body. I have always wanted to escape.
Inside this poem, the truth’s an animal crouching on all fours.

In Gérôme’s paintings, Truth assumes the form of a woman.
 

*

Inside this poem, the truth’s an animal crouching on all fours.

In Gérôme’s paintings, Truth assumes the form of a woman.
In the painting I love most, she sits at the bottom of a well.

*

In Gérôme’s paintings, Truth assumes the form of a woman.
In the painting I love most, she sits at the bottom of a well—
Naked; & with her right hand, she holds up a haloed mirror.

*

In the painting I love most, she sits at the bottom of a well—
Naked; & with her right hand, she holds up a haloed mirror.

What is the name for it, what I, in haste, have called a life?
 

*

Naked, she holds up a haloed mirror with her right hand.

I have no name for it: what I, in haste, have called a life.

It aches, to want but have no name for what it is you want.
 

*
 

I have no name for it: what I, in haste, have called a life.

It aches, to want but have no name for what it is you want.

I know Shame like one knows kin. I know its middle name.

*
 

It aches to want, to have no name for what it is I want.
Like a kin, Shame knows & calls me by my secret names.

I do remember being a boy without a name for everything.

*
 

Like a kin, Shame knows & calls me by my secret names.

I do remember being a boy without a name for everything.

Unclothed, behind closed doors, I danced with other boys.
 

*
 

A man now, & still I have no name for everything I am.

Unclothed, behind closed doors, we danced the dance
We did not know to call a dance, or sin—just wrestling.