again and again
the morning comes undone
and we march -
stuff-lunged into crunch
and mule love
blunder-bused and lump-kin
but for always
a short ton
of long grief
tweaking the snip
of a dead sow's ear
to reap a jewel
from a dead
mind.
but here
i love you like a war in Spain
spiking the Punch and Judy/
a fugue grief on a tide of dark joy
slavering at the haunches
of a Pegasus.
Blindfolded.