Lit a pyre and burned again
for an abducted princess.
To Troy he sailed
with Heracles' bow
to snuff twin flames.
Hera sent a serpent
to cross his aims.
He's bitten.
The wound stinks.
The poison rots
as each hero shrinks
away fleeing his
accursed state.
Until twin wits plot
to purloin his bow...
But good faith prevailed
and provided a cure
for all he ailed.
Save the shaky palm which strokes the brow,
what can untimeliness do to assuage?
Censure wayward star, contritely pen a vow
and wish your eyes smile on the page?
Breaking the circle of page and path we step aside.
Harvest Moon, pregnant with soft gold,
denudes heaven.
It posts low,
vigilant over spoils.
Pull back the sheets.
Cover mouths.
Mute pages sleep,
dreams reaped
by prying eyes.
We cannot still desire or silence fear.
This print, Nightfall on pale as day pages.
Sun tucks eye under margin
to close glaring Tribunals.
We're sentinels of night.
White blanks intimate explicit silences.
Every page a canvas where desire passes
kept breath.
