Gingerly the sun sets,
Orange lips upon the glass of sea,
Drooling outward to give light to
To works of spilled spools of thread
Weaving tapestry that says,
“Good darkness save you, and let things be.”
But I can not be.
I am writhing, unforeseen by
The prophets telling hearts, steering them into
Into agate pools,
Chalcedony beings shivering into
Sand grains and waters shoving them away
Into a blanket,
“Good darkness save you, I can not let be.”
What say you to the
Bleak night? What rites be cast unto us,
Into wilting bones and spirit-parts that have not
One immortal thing, to say,
“Yes, I have seen that. I give way.”
But I can not give way.
Braced, neither in the deep nor
Elohim peering through creaking seam; but,
Though planted twixt shade and road,
Hanging right-sided under throes I give
Blink, with orange kiss,
And drink the ocean into lungs,
Songs cupped, saying,
“Good darkness, what say you? Help me let way. Save what I can be.”
I am more than the sum of things
That shall never be.
And there is
A crack…a home in everything.