Talk your thin, fool words,
Make your feet-of-clay plans –
Both will carry,
Curse-crystal clear –
Feel the gods laughing presence,
As they position game-pieces,
Sharpen diamond teeth?
Plant your pale, flags
On maps-that aren’t;
As if they mean something,
Are terribly significant …
If it’ll help.
Conceal tribal silver
As is traditional,
With future beauties, power
Atop the sacred rock:
Strap war-doom saddles to
Belligerent bull camels –
Time is treasure –
The star is
Always moving on.
The window I first saw as green,
Flickered, became, bright yellow
Then purple; it now shows me black –
Or – had I eyes to see it clearly –
Much worse – it might be blank.
The spirit that crosses mountains
More easily than soldiers,
That passed whispered “darlings” and
“Forevers” between us in secret
Dockside rendezvous, still
Dances in her, spills endlessly
From her in silken sheet smiles,
Trembling on the brink of more:
Adventure, climax, sin, betrayal.
It was never the window altering:
It was me: me and the little hand