missive, the last mast of
happiness, resolves the
motive of love, the
heart breaks the well of
stone, the code of dark north
brightens to know Polaris
and the dog star, howling
lets loose the colloquial left overs
for her, for the fern of my
brain, so long in the pan the
world ached the rest of
faith out like blood, at the
wound kneeing in prayer,
the solemnity wasted on no priest
wasted on the fulfillment
of past promises, of past hosts,
reconciling and left to ring
around a stone already thrown.
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