It is all wrong til it is done
It is
And no hollering will undo its knots
No love will grace the brow into breaking fever

But how we relax at last
Into summers undreamt
And winters unwalked
How we relinquish
Even in a monkey grip
Our last breath

Noble and unwelcome
guest to our will’s last


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s