i am no longer wailing vagaries
[at the top of these lungs]
[[hoping you’ll hear]]
no longer seeing gods face in
[mugwine and sleepingpills]
after all this time
spent idly in a haze longing for
some other haze, and a haze
beyond that, and another, and
a time
before time,
before time was;
these human hands strained
to reach, forgetting all too
readily what they could grasp;
so they faltered and \dropped\
whatever they held.
darling i haven’t dropped you yet;
you strengthened my hand,
blew the clouds from my brown eyes
and now a bigger embrace holds us.
it demands no vagaries, no idols,
no goodwill vessels.
it only asks for eyes poured out in sand
and if the figure drawn in the trickle
fits, it fits.
