Barely an octave in,
Torn between two signatures
and more familiar, already,
with closed containment.
Into shelter
As much as I would
fly to you,
you must arc to me
on gilded wing
For dancing in
We are wedded with tragedy
Like a night flight
Shrouded with nervous attendants.
Sparrows fall from trees
Establishment
A dream of damaged men,
who carry themselves
(and worthy causes)
like piles of shattered flint
in ungloved hands.