To M.

C’mon, demise, stop swearing if by the hands of fire

Things fall apart, and let her fight with the Angel,

You’ve got so many words to handle,

The dark light of dusk sheltering you

From stars and skies, while blue seeds

Wolf down limbs, or souls, so no more burning hits,

If rain, slate, clouds shore up a slate life

Where troubles raid, and when you hound them

They raise in arms-

C’mon, demise, forget your micro fractures

In hunger and desire, you know, hope dies

Anytime a girl’s hair get tangled all over the sky,

And you, dear Adam, our first man, stop asking

As she can’t, she just can’t praise,

Nor can she sing in celebration

Of your maimed world, look, she’s just waiting

For boys, and girls who are leaving the park,

Barefooted, their arms entwined, is that life?

Maybe, if she answers your calls at dusk,

And the prophets’ hunger turns into a child's play-

While some fade in a deep silence

Others bet on death in the waves,

And old crones hidden in a room stand fast,

Yet they breathe, and you can’t help but shout:

‘Welcome again, my breath, now you are my friend,

Please, help me hunt light from her bloody hideout,

My soul, sorry if it’s such hard work if the glossy red

Of apples skips breaths, or a reckless life

From comets, or strikes.