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The Black Mesa
So much is parchment where I gloom, Character still sharp enough to prick Into the hide my igneous Old spells and canticles of doom. The things that shape a person! Peace. Depth therapy in early stages crowned One fuming anchorite with river stones. Remember, though, how in Thais The desert father falls for the land's lie- That 'grande horizontale' (blown shawls Shining and raveling to this day Above erosions in her pot of rouge) Whom any crossing cloud turns dim, Ascetic, otherworldly, lost to him. By way of you a thousand human Frailties found in me their last refuge. The turquoise lodged for good one night In a crevice where the young blood drummed. Discharge, salvo, sulfur ringed me round Below the waist. I knew thirst. Dawns, The viceroy's eagle glittered like a gnat. Sieges like that come late and end Soon. And we are friends now? Funny friends. Glaringly over years you knit A wild green lap robe I shake off in tears. I steal past him who next reclaims you, keep Our hushed appointments, grain by grain... Dust of my dust, when will it all be plain?