I
the poisoner
I
the orchard tender
I
the waystation
I
the playful deluge

I am
resolutely damaged
I am
splintered soft handed sleep
I am
diamond needle obsolete and elegant
I am
sound as a red cent

I
the slink and strut
I
the blink of a snake
I
the train where there are no rails
I
the licker of boots and saucers

I will
trickle like a milk stream
I will
quarter the blood of the pure blood man
I will
draw the demons out of the legionnaire
I will
fasten the buttons on the cadaver’s coat

I
the question of the daylight
I
the shrug of the night
I
the shawl the grandmother tangled and fell upon
I
the dilute sweat of the worker sliced in two by the work

I can
look like eyes to whoever sees me
I can
caution the child and comfort the killer
I can
be the resort on the horizon for a starved woman
I can
not rest until everything evolves toward me