A Crystal That Darkens
Winter is also celibate. The conscience is moving,
A frozen light in a frozen eye. It's raining much looser,
Down a ripped tree. I couldn't have,
I couldn't have, in this sin-sick tenderness.
___
My face is cracked in my fawnlike fingers;
And the nose betrays an inner child, who
Wouldn't listen to sparrows about being catched.
I just insisted fur was wings.
___
The feminine chill on the palm must be sorrow;
When I think of church bells, or mother-
That I am haunting as raw love.
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