Tuesday, March 16, 2010

A Skeptic's Froth

Thinly, to have bubbled and busted
up far beyond the reaches of finger-tips and –nails.
Wishing to cover and encompass,
finding no warm-above shield.
Justice is just, and the moon moons
while comfort comforts me and makes a speak.
Having no say but an act, I fly
like butterwings beyond a basketful of bones
and peace finds me and sits me and rocks me still.