Chance: Six More From a Tarot


“The memory of the wicked
shall rot”
— I come to collect
chaff and ash, splinters doubled
from being waterlogged.


A little bell made
of moneybags tied around
your neck: Abogado
de campanilla.


When you grow up, do not seek
to be a lawyer, soldier, governor,
doctor, king. Grow something
real with your hands.


How many cubits to the east?
What depth the wall-posts and what
height the beams? Do not forget
hallways of branching dreams.


I kissed the ground
and touched my forehead
to the dust then rose
and gathered up belongings.


Happy the cricket
on the window-ledge:
everything dark but for
one bar of fallen light.


In response to Via Negativa: L'esprit d'escalier.

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