Healed
skin of ice
thick with scars,
i wore it for so long
it ached,
uppng the numb.
touch couldn’t be
more empty so i
sought candles
of fingertips,
only these to possess me
and i quaked, at first,
in their stirring,
how the bliss
crept through,
trembling drops of water
which braved my eyelids.
such pilgrims! i thought,
how and why did they
find this mental tomb,
and bless the fallen?
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The world hangs on the pivot of November 5th.
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