Wet

[askefise]

---

I'm
candle-slow
and
greatly sorry
because it's
raining on
another
Monday, Cailleach
has the shovel of seasons
and we're burying
worthy Cries
in the backs
of our remembrances.

I'm sorry because of my doubt.
Because of my senselessness.
Because of my Godlessness

This Goodness, exists
only because
of this indifferent heart,
otherwise
I'm
saturnine-blue,
less dignified
than a Sunday Grave,
flower-ruined, beer bottled,
stained -- like eyes
moveless because of Love.

I'm
Blank and windly.
Purposeless static
as if Beautiful. I
regret for the years
and the lost language,
that One which escapes,
concerning
destiny;

We were born, expiating the
High Moon. Like a
nimbus wishbone we broke two ways
gone ways, as only distance
can do to us, and the Wish
all she wants
wants to do
is become Unwished,
not existing because someone
else is Wanting it.
Free, like smoke.