Damascene Christ

I would be breathing

if the windows were open,

and I would hear you

if the noise could seep in.

But in this space,

I know

there are only glue traps

and the midnight squeaks

of creatures of sin.

You would be sleeping

if your pillows were not hijacked,

and you would touch me

if I weren’t made of ice.

But in this space,

you know

there are only roadblocks,

and the forgotten stories

of a Damascene Christ.