from these rain-ridden pebbles on a sorry alleyway
had come the hoarfrost of tree boughs...
and these frore hands, so rigorous, so needlessly skilled--
that is not me…
these hands are good for one thing…
the sun kissed fleece and logs,
reflected on caspian dark glass...
perhaps i dream of the eventide moon,
tasting the last fruit of gravity--
that is not me…
these hands are good for one thing…
i sent the doves with letters,
three or four, indeed...
but they came back with nothing.
the only excuse i’ll pardon
is instantaneous decease upon reading.
these things you murmured of,
are they faithful to your hands alone?
should you return to the ground,
i’ll share my condolences with the soil.
if not,
consider this the final act of recognition.
on the ledger of you,
i will stop trampling these pointless logs,
and give the rocks some shade for once...
but, please be alive… let me know…
this is not me…
and these hands are good for something else, too…
Nov 7, 2025
Nov 7, 2025 at 5:22 PM UTC
from these rain-ridden pebbles on a sorry alleyway
had come the hoarfrost of tree boughs...
and these frore hands, so rigorous, so needlessly skilled--
that is not me…
these hands are good for one thing…
the sun kissed fleece and logs,
reflected on caspian dark glass...
perhaps i dream of the eventide moon,
tasting the last fruit of gravity--
that is not me…
these hands are good for one thing…
i sent the doves with letters,
three or four, indeed...
but they came back with nothing.
the only excuse i’ll pardon
is instantaneous decease upon reading.
these things you murmured of,
are they faithful to your hands alone?
should you return to the ground,
i’ll share my condolences with the soil.
if not,
consider this the final act of recognition.
on the ledger of you,
i will stop trampling these pointless logs,
and give the rocks some shade for once...
but, please be alive… let me know…
this is not me…
and these hands are good for something else, too…
the winter still insists