she was the daughter of a demigod,
the infinite spirit
the alabaster anomaly of a cherokee
screeching in the thickblood of summer air
wielding a mouthful and a tounge ablaze
sighing tides into the long rolling sea

in little backyard slopes of palms
she put memories into jars
and stored them on shelves too high
for arms to reach

“Will it be enough?”
I asked,
in pup tents stitched for our successors
“Will it be enough?”
I asked,
in whiskey drinks brewed for our begetters

Content yourself to know
she said
that we have,
for now,
defeated desire.

and so it seems in these long days
pulled dripping from dreams,
i’ve more to sing than can be
sung in tongues too human
but I am here
to defend always
your little vowels.

(tonight’s tragic comedy,
in two thousand and twelve acts: Man)