feathered stars
scattered silver
veins
across an indogen
palantir
she speaks
much
these nights
of her father
recalls
the unbottomed
black
of his eyes
the catholic
cry
of his laughter
in these
reckonings
lie clues
this
the man
knows
he knows
yes
he knows
yet
still cannot
follow
for
the ways
her ways
so steep
so slick
so shallow
dissolve
at even the
fancy
of touch
so he
reads
and reads
and reads
again
watching the words
roll and fall
cold mercury
fading
from her lips
©sdrogers 25 february 2014
