Tuesday, December 21, 2021

Never Your Own

It’s time to go back
And wander the earth
In search of peaceful

Uses for atoms,
Explained the poet
In the lucid dream,

More irrational
And dark for being
Unusually clear.

Her knotted hands plunged
Into some black soil,
Where she seemed to be

Either inhuming
Or extricating
The corpse of a fawn,

Blood seeping from it,
Coloring the night.
You’ve known that poet,

The one who knows words
To find the world wise
In limited terms.

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