THE WEAVE:

Mars speaks to the Night,

and his bedroom ceiling…

"A Heart
beat like a steady
drum.  I tell her to quiet

down, but she won't.
And what a blessing,
that placing an End

to Life is not so
simple.  But still,
someTimes, I wish

she wouldn't pound
with so many restless
stories, lost and found. 

It is an angry dear,
who Lights my soul, and I 
haven't alWays the will,

to control her.  Who is
this One that goes over
All the Ways I have been

wronged, late into the Night,
in burning rightness?
The One who plays over

what will soon be said,
but will never be said,
because that is not the Way

Life happens.  'Come back,'
I tell the Mile-Minute Runner,
'And do Nothing.'  Can I bear

to not even write a Word
about it, but lay Here?  I think,
maybe it is neither my Heart, nor I,

who carries on in the agony
of waiting without waiting
for the moment when

explication will be woefully
appropriate, but some other bitter
figment, seeking to sabotage

with preemptive.  It leaves
no opening for listening,
but wants to gush, with bile

from a festering.  There is no point
in banishing it.  I tell the voice,
'Come home,' again, and again,

to this pounding
Heart, and beat against
the breath, and Here be

softened."