Go on then stone-skipper. Color me a thermic lance.
Nightfall, the kindest gesture, remains a substance
on which I should try to rely. Head, above, uncalcified

stone. Let me explain: I watch from the cement lake.
Loathsome, listing grievances. Like my prayers, mist saunters
up off the surrounding frosted green. Come. Come see

the body visit upon everything deployed. Face me. Violently
unsteady. Looked in the eyes, our hours will uncrease.
Freed from below, if you seek it: boiling-point tears.

You’ll weather me. Burst out your own recursive days, under a cold
sun, knowing no fate worse than a February that never comes.
Can’t I be what I’ve exhausted? Bodiless and bereft. Still

unwilling to change. Light will come; lights of hardy school buses
grumbling the road. I’m an accomplice of regret. I’m offering.
Unrehearsed, try me. Be a benefactor of when I make it out alive.