Licht und Blindheit
This is the gasp of the trip-switch dawn, cask thunder-crack
in blood-bark walls, wounding wind of wire's teeth emboldened
by player-piano keys and backgammon dresses we drape our
fine feathers in.
Bright flash-sudden in the Dublin dark revealing flaw-tines,
mirrored blood patches, destines for the next morning's
hazy-grey dress shirt cross folds, next evening's further
wine glass follies.
Castle doors they shutter-slam about us peasants, our
ignorance and willing to batter down, our bitter
pill concoctions swallowed to little death's dream
after the chime.
Blinding, the affectations made as danger wandered
cling of dust to fabric collar, cling of name to fingers;
it was your light that tripped me up, yours
and that alone.
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