Honesty: A Poem
Friday, January 30, 2009
The crescent moon has fallen to its back,and the night is glass,
and on the wall in the room where I lie waiting
hang the hollowed eyes of a ram,
the perfect bone
of what gets left,
of what will be watchful then:
Self unto soul unto self.
There is a difference between
the dawn and the light.
One seeks.
One hurries.
