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Tending Dust with a Stick

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  • Tending Dust with a Stick

    Night is some sort of spot behind the eyes
    You wake alone with a migraine
    Memories flood out of your satchel
    The harsh words of your father the endless bickering inside the house
    The teenage you stands outside in the cold shivering in the dark
    Perhaps you were banished there for some inconsequential wrongdoing
    But here you find a brief respite yours eyes bleary and stinging
    Hold back the tears above the cold stars
    You wish for another life
    What helps fear to prune its thicket

    One thinks of the bones
    Stretching out opening their doorways becoming aqueducts
    So that the marrow can wash out like lava with the ground
    Wanting to eventually glisten down our fur
    How can we not be
    Pleased to have come this far
    To fall out of the mind into tears