Poetry has yet to emerge;
my life! where have you been?
This song I sing is not for
the faint-hearted; suicide is not
for children. O where has my beauty
gone? When will I be crushed,
recycled?
This is the long hallway to
another hallway; a staircase
down to further down. How I
remember the snow's descent
from higher beginnings- some
call it drifting.
Have we forgotten that God exposes
pieces of Himself; a sackcloth of posies,
a naked ray of tumbling light,
the wind-bruised bird diving wildly
through an impossible depth.
