Burn, 7 June, 2012

Thursday June 7, 2012 § Leave a comment

                    

                    Uncertain,
                    as when
                    dusk
                    scatters
                    your
                    promise on
                    the crimson
                    grass. How
                    much is not
                    enough,
                    and when is
                    too much
                    final, in just
                    about
                    anyone’s
                    eyes, there
                    is a sensible
                    retreat, not
                    taken.                     

                     How dark
                     are the
                     fields, how
                     full the
                     hours we
                     must incur.
                     How gentle
                     we must be.
                     The sound,
                     if you can
                     call it that,
                     of a dry
                     rain falling
                     on a dry
                     land, the
                     slide of
                     loosely
                     falling
                     camber, and
                     blood memory
                     and the dreams
                     it fails.

                     See how 
                     richly
                     the earth
                     burns, and
                     how little
                     we resolve.
                     If not
                     today, then
                     when.

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