Adamant Curtain Wells
She draws curtains in the wells of caverns with monks that may
And breaks dusk in the hammers that seize the rocks tormented
Since childhood, glistening on another leaf laughing to break the silence
Of those mischievous curtains, those all too sincere laughing mandrakes
In the wells with Jacob’s riddles – it was not enough to make her content
Like serene thoughts in hours remorse for coughing latitude for silver
Tires where ache and the airplane sources are spoken, the intoned holy gift,
Wilted and maximized in the virtue of stolen flags and the turn of stomach
Milk ashtrays in the morning, weeds like dancing carousels in the weathered refrain,
Forgotten comforts where love no longer knows the compass
When we are negotiating a space between ourselves and another’s judgment
They will say it is selfish to wish to improve one’s condition, far removed,
But it is far more selfish to wish to prevent others from doing so,
In the space of intonation nightless, is it not by a shed holiness turned to flight
But by prosperity it does envy the glorious comforts of ending love