Poems II by Elijah Atlas

...In My Attempts to Define You

to Mathilde

A thief’s reputation

no longer makes me nervous

I am turning bold in my Enterprise

the gallows’ silhouette

is losing its sharpness

I no longer steal the glances

My Methods are expanding

My Operation is growing

I reign in the command-center

as my agents deliver

the new scraps

to feed the old schematics

Many a window conceals

a pair of eyes on which I can rely

Expeditions fly under my banner

charting your evasive and limitless topographies

pains are taken to recruit

the best of the daring

who greet the unknown

landscapes of water and wind

with hunger

the wells of their homes soured

by vast horizons

My spies are planted

in every marketplace

I ransack the old cities of pillared Europe

to collect the most illustrious masters of arcana

their judgment is reliable

because I know

they have made peace

with the frequent bewilderment

of sudden revelations

They labour ceaselessly

beneath the towered

shadows of their tomes

to decipher your runes and amulets

My reach knows

no restraint

Inspired by St. Francis

I make a pact

with six distinct species of bird

which I will not reveal

except to say

they are fools for beauty

and given to song

We are growing in resolve and efficiency

I no longer have to oversee the busy efforts

with a smile that promises whips

and my agents no longer know

whether they are workers or acolytes

so strong is the spirit of the Enterprise

We put in the long hours

most of us are presumed dead or missing

We wrestle with the difficulties

the families have stopped sending postcards

We ignore the world behind the window blinds

only the mirrors remember our faces

In our pride we

sometimes proclaim that

progress is being made

and celebrate with the restrained

extravagance of wine and music

Then it happens again

Sudden

yet inevitable

An unexpected word

or an expected word

Uttered

in a new melody

or an old melody

Renewed

Motion that shatters

our patterns

A strange unveiling of light

And my Empire crumbles

with the force of ages

As the splinters of my crown

scatter in the wind

the jobless subjects spill into the streets

joyously mad with the shock of liberty

And i again am restored to

a thief stealing glances

in my attempts to define You

A Traitor’s Confession

It is sometimes comforting to see myself

Returning to you

As a memory

After the long years have effaced the particulars

You would be surprised by

My appearance

Coming so suddenly

Like a stranger in the mirror or

The grip of moss on a fallen stone

And I know

because you know all

The ways I betrayed you

You shall never invoke my name

Except

In the deep silence of

Deaf loneliness

The Art of Folding

When I hold you

the world folds away

like an irrelevant origami figure left on a dusty shelf.

When your body moves

ship lost at sea,

all moments crumple up like sheets in a bin indifferent to all poetry.

When your breath sings

infinity

I remember at last that desert sands are made of folded monuments!