One-thousand suns could bake you
but one does the job well enough
Reaching inward, bleaching inward
all the way to your brain
That battlefield of rocks

Heat seeks heat and saps it out
it pours like a maple
it takes its toll
And it is left, it being you,
it being anybody
Who happens to see
Arrows flying slowly in the dark

07/22/2006

Author's Note: for Zelda Fitzgerald.

Posted on 07/27/2006
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