Inscape –

these the shallow waters surrounding us

in our sullen amplitude

know nothing that we do not know

and the something that we affirm is sudden

and fortuitous with a sensate yearning -- all

the minutes of every hour resound

with silent circumstance, the cards

held tightly to the chest, these ruined gamblers

succumbing to chance their purebred dereliction -- the

skeletons dance in the closet awaiting our

surefooted embrace; we, who doubt what

we seem to know under

the broken willow's bough -- how can we measure

our unfed certainty? Who will

greet us there in the darkness when we are afraid

of our intimate selves, our nighttime Mistress

holding out her intricate Sense

of mystery and intent?

The crows hold down their perches on the church cross,

aiming at precise angles -- What

are we to do when we cannot accept our

own judgment? Who

will break our backs with irony, these

minute infractions

of our laws lending a censured grace

to our surroundings? -- Spring

is an ill-fed boar, a wild

thing that will unearth

our heartfelt longing, allowing

intimate glances

and a growing knowledge of impiety; in

our quiet home above

the Earth we submit to

adjudicated despair; our future

hope a certain awe held fast

and quick with fire – Names

pass by us in Multitudes, they form themselves

around Us begging an invitation to the dance; we

who grind away yesterday's foreclosure

with pampered hands

and bitten nails -- We

are the Magi come wandering in the desert, having

heard of the Virgin Birth -- We lean

into the Wind and

Step out along latitudes

inscribed with

heat and Surprise; Who are

the ratified judges calling us to trial, we

who have upped the ante

at every possible opportunity only

to fall prey

to a gentle lapse

of Purpose?

We are the minions of

a sheltered Charity

here to

protect our Shadows

from the Sun --

*