Poem: Plato

 

 

Plato

 

a dented trowel, this tongue.

the story had fought back

with the sludge of mortar.

this tongue that had built this lie,

burden by burden,

refusal by refusal,

over a latticework of once fresh heart,

within uncharted skies now fallen, fossilized,

long-sunk remnants of a meteor blaze.

the only sledgehammer

was a lover who once

maybe still loved.  who once

maybe still danced with butterflies

galaxies off:  a lover

whose voice danced 

bird-tender-sotto-sparkle

with light.

and it was this fruit, these gardens,

the ripeness of such love, this lover,

which had trellised with

blossoms and vines of

sunsets and dawns to

crack the walls of the 

unintended cave.

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12/16/25

Cave metaphor from The Republic

Have some covid-like thing, plus 200 assignments to grade before xmas, can't afford doctor, timewise or money, no right to a doctor in the USA.