Ronald Frank
Untitled
One-starred night shines through and
Alarms us out of comfort’s
Carnal cover. We catch the dawn’s
Bent, half-familiar verticles.
It proclaims the world again, collides
With threads of horizontal light and
This too-lived-in earth to raze
Those no-good barricades we’d set against
Time and the next day’s day.
The witless dove caws its tumbril…
And in this flat November light,
You turn away
And, frenzied, say “Forget me”.
Page(s) 52
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