Like a child
You re-enter the gates to confusion
The tangled, unapologetic paths
Through synapse and sensation
Was honesty ever a true friend?
Like a fox, unhurried nosing
Through spent pleasures
Recreating your dusks and dawns
By the light of fluttering eyelids
Angels at your back
Circumspection bows your shoulders
Nobility has no place in this mosaic
Shrike-thrushes advertise their husky repertoires
Until the indigo bushes nod and the night-moths emerge
You are not a queen, or even a king
But there is joy in the wind existing
Caught in your waiting ears.
echologos.net 
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