Saturday, March 17, 2012

sometimes its a shroud

Even the sun will crash & burn.
Even the stone will return to the sea.
Even the moon will drift away
     into the dark that stretches on.
Even in you there is a thing that ends.
Even the parts that will not wash away.
Even the cuts that seemed the deepest
    sunk into the flesh & into the bone
     & into the uncertainty like a ghost
    that haunts the possibility of truth.
Even that is subject to the fire.