Windmill

Somewhere nigh; and somewhere far; and aqua eyes—a
Burgundy smile; and cedar roots—a forest soul. What of my
Dreams—a brilliant diamond; and what of my soul—
Constant warfare. I’m split, love; and phantoms cry; and

Seasons change; and my time: the wealth of loss; and my
Heart: the aftermath; and she grins, grief; and she laughs,
Anguish. What the mystery? and mystics die; and mothers
Bleed; and daughters grow wings; and I fall and rise:

What the gray? I’m born and unborn—scratching walls—
And breaking nails; and what my mind—a chess of ghosts;
And why give more: for love multiplies; and dahlias
Flourish. But morning’s cold: a frozen type of sulfur; and
Suffer such spells; and grope such wind. If only this Light;
And only this Strength; and only this Mercy.