So here come all the prophets offering us their
Flowers
of renunciation such roses as to match
The color of your lipstick and today we see how
Even
the sun pauses in its soft-headed journey
But
only briefly and bemused and casting this
Drool-squandered
light to efface our smiles
Our squinting gestures when we finish mending
The
frayed sky these modest grandiosities yet
We
have not forgotten the prophets bearing
Our
nameless childhoods in their goat-eyes they
Who offer
complex disquisitions to the meager
Shade cast by our twin oblong shadows
Shade cast by our twin oblong shadows
Seven
years of predetermined hours coming
To
a sudden halt at our feet like a new carpet
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