A part of the soul defiled! A part
of the breath exhaled
and then sucked in,
near the little trees where gods are nailed
...the signs hung
in a witch’s forgone lust,
in the rusty forest of our metal anguish,
in the dust that flakes
from ancient wooden walls
in all their sin.
 
A part of the body of the soul
too tired to rail
in anger or in passion
or even with such broken weeping grief.  

More that scratched and scraped discovery
of lint beneath the nail,
more the mirrors tired examination
of some crusty mole.  

A part of the body
...and the rest a wrinkled and forgotten
Autumn leaf.  

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