Lustrum

Not less; only—different. Not everything should be visible. Wingdom: doves. Not everything can be. There are many parts to the body.The light, like I said. Gratia exempli, per person more than one heart. As, of hearts, more than one kind. As coin. As thrust. To begin counting is to understand what it can mean, to lose track. Is there nothing not useful? Anything left, anymore, private?Ambition, like they said: little torch; having meant to. Doom is always in style somewhere and, where it isn't, will come back. Bird in the bush, take me. Splendor: nothing priceless. To believe anything, to want anything—these, too, have cost you.Flame, and the beveled sword, set inside it. This one, this—what did you think body was? What did you mean when you said not everything should be said?The light as a tipped cone, searching. The body that breaks finally, routinely faltering before that.If a sword, then without patience; if as water–pearled, swift. What else could you have thought, when you thought love–having known the torch, having more than meant to.Just watch me. Not grand; only—distant.Weather, and the bleachable skull, set inside it. Locust-wind, small through-the-yellow-sycamore fingering wind, Carry me, let the prayer—valiant, up— go. Some bright and last thing should.