As lemongrass holds the river’s first shimmer of morning light, you possess
me. Drifting in the marsh, my fingertips dipping in the water,
like a luminous blue god,
you have become an idea that I can no longer doubt without proving my devotion. Yes,
you hold me, you hold me, you hold me as wood holds the frame of a house,
or as iron holds the cables of a bridge. If I were a Buddhist, this possession would send me straight to hell.
But I am not a Buddhist. I am only a man who holds you,
or at least the thought of it, which is no difference at all.
George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, The Angle at St. John Fisher College, and 3:16 Journal. George’s blogs, essays and letters have appeared in USA Today, The Wall Street Journal, The Atlantic, Havana Times, South China Morning Post, The Buffalo News, and more.
See all his poems on Tea House here.