With gaping neglect and
plastic mirth, he stays
where the light dies quickly
My words dart across the fence where
the shadow is just beginning
The moon is no mirror and my sight fails him
Comfort has little part in this creature
a fearful miser, recoiling at himself and
bathing in his own aged wine
He who burrows in prosperity's soil
he could chase the wind to see the sun
He was born to revel in the lake
Instead, in the wake of eclipse, he
fashions his cradle in a coward's shell,
a capsule of ringing isolation
I kneel with a startling crash and
my blood rings my heart's bell as
I offer to you the ivory key
Here, take, my breath, my rough palm
the offspring of my womb
and of my weathered soul
27 February 2010
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