LEGACIES OF DUST
When thistles to a father
mean starlings to a tree
the names of constellations
cease to mean a thing.
When war has subdivided
and sired many sons,
where grows the master
in whose trust we shall succumb?
Can a mistake be unlearned
or must it be paid off in full?
We promised no one but ourselves,
with no one but us to lose.
In glacial focus warmed by ice
vaporous tracings lend device
to a precisely positioned skeletal hand
aiming a magnifying glass at the sand.
Erasing all traces and even memories
the names of relations disappear in the trees
the foggy invasions, the birds in the eaves,
the stars in the window, the whispers of thieves.
written by shaun