I am not but dust  
Yet this I do know:
You are a brass bone
In the most ancient of gods
A fiery point of light in
This novel machine
Regurgitating bruise- colored
mandalas
& Novel universes
@ a whim

If life were true
I would build eleven marble cities
For you
And gilded spires
Twisting to
Knife the rose horizon
Would be my poetry unto you