Two Poem Offering from Francis Raven

Gone, you know I am gone 
Like blood on a knee- 
The holy river. 
But I didn't fall down stairs 
Or crawl through arid regions 
For this vision of suffering, 
I merely applied the red paint. 

I take too many vows, 
I steal too many robes 
From expensive hotels, 
I always leave the bible in the drawer; intact. 
I need to follow from one face to the next. 
If I found that grinning head which I might fall into 
I might run for the nearest shadow. 
I can't bear to fall from pretenses 
Such as my own bloodshed. 

Lover, if I offer each face, 
Leaving the steam as my only trace, 
Will you sit unmovable and count the moons with me? 
Why don't we get married on a river, 
Start a book, get dirty in relation? 
I am offering everyone this poet enters, 
Perhaps I am shoving it upon you. 
Perhaps I suffer now, apart from you 
Like one who knows God 
But cannot find his hand to lead. 

"Tree Song" 

Polished timidity. . . 
Wait; remembrance is a color too. 

Walk in your shady substances 
Throughout the tender matchbox 

As I follow the trail of ash 
Into your pocket 

Where I find 
One autumn branch 

Of a big leafed Maple 
Moving into its hiding place: 

The unknown subtle colors 
Though you walk through every hour.