Last Look

One last look - deep in the furrow of my palm Identifies the See not as holy - yet My cathedra, from which I bounce off into the night Above an anvil cloud spreading my wings like a jet Off to a good star, I hear - in flight! This ship does not dock at the wharf In the shape of a dog’s heart It does not matter - I am not a giant or a dwarf Nor am I naïve or smart. This little quail curled up in mistrust Relentlessly pursuing an ideal of her dream, I don’t auction off my heart, even if I am bust I walk against the currents of my life –up-stream. I will forgive you everything in a droplet called –tear, As it is rolling down the cheek of a swan Holding onto what is very, very dear, Considering you nothing but the only life photon. As if I have methodically defiled love While sitting on the last seat of an empty tram That is taking me into the night with a ripped glove A window and my image in it –I see clam. At about two and a half minutes into ascent I have learned to hold my breath And yet I cannot escape this mental bend so pent Created in the bloodbath to soothe the virginity of death.