Nothing To Hide Behind

That couple,
when they bit the fig of a foreign idea
the world was made for hiding,

perhaps some inkling other than love -
snuffed even as it was born -
triggered a soggy, persistent seed of shame,

we live under its rock garden, bent,
or keep it knuckled under with hammers and halos,
or at arms length by flayling madly,

always rushing water pressures the stone,
let it break away, crumble,
tumble us inside out

then our dreams become our clothes,
the eros winds - now through us - carry
memory of eternity.