Carbon

Life is carbon-based:
full of faces
who reflect it –
souls are shadowed
with innumerable

specks. Coal dust
makes us up.
The bluster
of abruptly azure day,
whose clarity we’d like

to think is destiny,
is merely punctuation
separating shrouds
of the condition
into which we came

and we will go:
charcoal – clay –
muddy when it isn’t
choking dry –
covering the sky –

the glow. But there
is glow, somehow,
beneath the black.
Maybe that’s why
we come back.







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