Russian Lullaby

So we yield convinced

We're still resisting.

Feeble light, shorn of love,

Coats the dirty house.

The plumbing's defective.

At first, the air's numb,

Then a strong gust snaps

A leafy branch off an oak,

Gives way to an unconscious wound.

Sometimes it's wonderful

To be unsure of yourself,

Or able to inspire illusion.

The feely-touchy embrace

of missing limb and strangled tone implodes.

What the world demands

Stains autumn and spring,

Courts extreme skies.

The faint light before dawn:

Should it be so inclined

When everything depends on love?

I won't object to

What I can't deliver.

Copyright World Poetry, Incorporated Nov/Dec 2003
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