You say morning people aver the sun spilt homilies from hands bent to dismiss for too long I refuse to let things pass jealousies, an arc weld heat the bronze, once globulous and molten rigid in that deceptive, ugly shape of desert rivers I will lay here for a thousand years inconsolate as sand until I almost evaporate still, that mica glint when you pass and almost catch my eye Is as bright as drowning once again
