Occurrence --

these, the round incisions in our souls

make way for opulence, the devil's smile

bright upon their brows, from days of old

till now the inkling of a lingering mile

we take to arrive at ourselves, almost spent

with vision's burden kneeling in the grass

before the apparition, before we rent

our gowns hungering for a different past

while lithe enemies pound upon the gate

what will we do? what is left to say

when all the iron justices abate

before the wind, utterances unpaid?

we see you there, transparent in the night,

a second shadow aching in our light --