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.