Issue 154, Spring 2000
I know you, smaller than Circumference
Of Bone—smaller than Orbit—than Silver
Flask in Pocket—more delicate than Mints
On Tongue shrinking into Sweet Breath from Sour.
I know the Summer-stained streets must fill, twice—
With Milk, with Flood—of Moon—and Blight.
I know how the Forest leads its Shallow life
First, to splendor—Jade, Ruby—then Right
Of Dismissal. The Heir, I know. The Emperor
Of Laced Bone made Outlaws of Wrists, Ribs,
Liquor, Hands? Name me: Relief. A Jeweler—
Fashions Clasps to stall a season. Earring Stubs . . .
Now dark Blood pulses through the white Wrist's Gate—
Must forge—from Winter—How—its gemmed Bracelet.