
Chiarra, it is Tuesday
My ardent desire
Was to balance
A raindrop on the point of a pin,
To watch the raindrop's eyelashes flicker,
To watch the raindrop's breasts quiver.
This was my desire for Tuesday,
But the sun wore sackcloth,
Crawled through the ashes of burnt blackbirds,
And there was a nail
In the brain of the wind.
Duane Locke
Posted over on The Beckoning
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