Face Your Maker

I wish for nothing. But, in colour They splash my bones -as flowers, rare Dreaming still, they brim an’ lull’ On lucid thrones -they dare Too ‘just’ visage -in blameless fleet Or cannon a whisper, upon worlds defeat They fold in cleft -all rooms, to bare The dangle of toes an’ the pump of hearts air But, still only echo -polluted, they groan Falling ill an’ out an’ moral by meat On dancing pavements an’ chalked to the stone Alone they have ridden’, but hopeless they greet So, face your maker. But, in colour No labour, fierce angel -for who crowned you so rare? For if you could shake, this world with a wish Who holds the power –out there?