This mortal flesh

I am this flesh

of water made

that feels and

hungers with desire;

and lives and moves

with rising sun,

and breaths the air

of misty morn.


And when the night

as black recluse

descends up this

mortal flesh,

then sleep as friend

and healing balm

comes to bring

its ashen veil.


It lays it gently

across my head

and fills me with

a world of dreams,

till morning comes

to live again

in this fleshly space

I call myself.