Arguments with destiny: 10

“I would go be the enemy
for an afternoon.” ~ D. Bonta

What I learn of fruition
drops from the barren tree;

and what I glean of hunger is
its wild sound, wind that ratchets

through the hollows. Bound
pages of books fall open

to show me how much
there is still to study—

But they could not press
the moon’s cold wafer thinner,

they could not make its shine
more lustrous than a pearl.

Where I bend my head, the lamp’s
bright aura is momentarily

interrupted: my shadow falling on fields
where letters notch small, serifed wings.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Tin soldier.

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