I have sadness
Like a pocketful of change,
Which jangles
At the commerce of my despair–
Nobly kind,
And heartlessly fair.
While the scale of my injustices
Balance
A tether, so fine,
I fail to recognize
The responsibility as mine.
Still–narrow and vague,
Shadows cloud my resolve–
A film of oil on
The surface of my thoughts.
Basically clear,
But murky in spots.
I crave the marrow
of love,
And chew on useless bone.
Winter 1986