Moss and Black Stones
You there in the corner of the forest--
I am the singer of moss and black stones.
Remember when the balcony was where you started?
When thermal updrafts created wings of space
for you to fall upon, feasting and fasting at once?
Don’t you know that regret
is an opera with no audience.
A banquet of one is still a banquet.
Thieves will always dine with you,
glow midnight blue in shadows,
then they’ll honey the gears, and complicate a simple plan
with the machinations of stars in combat.
Your implosion is a darkness hidden, sucking.
Desire is the mesh to snag a fool’s heart,
in a hunter’s chest a pig’s can easily replace its beating.
forthcoming in Badlands, Fall 2012