First, you. The husk that splits And out pours newness. You and one thousand Parallel: Pisces’ roe Plucked from above and dropped Into honeyed Nile to sip her moon-pale tears. Your pallor Lunaire by sun’s ray unthieved Inward glowing like tomorrow’s pearl.
Cry farewell to meandering cord then Drop on silted earth’s cheek. No words to wield. Now there is nothing But those life-wrought hands that Trace the candour of your flailing slouch. Hands that Tug on your round-eyed buoyancy Hands that Brand you with sour sorrows Like footprints on the moon.