Abstract
Your inverted slant is an acute notewest to east in the shaded sunrisesurrounded as you are by that moatof rocks and weeds, dry as a chalk line.One Goliath's push would likely do,would end your wind quivering forever.And still I pray to you. Pray for youto suck the least dew from your dust.Forget you. Never seem to find the soulto water—had plans of course—a desertsnaking pipe, brown as your boleshaking from the easterlies of winter.You've made promises, too, long gone.Once you might have burned for Mosescursing the crossing, striking the stone,hoisting the serpent, left unseen.Yet your sap untapped returns to meagainst all odds, yes, despite my neglectyour dark blood robe covers suddenlywhile I watch still through crusted glass.
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