Accidental Ascetic


Illusions of glamour fill
the windowsill’s winter pool
with troubles an angel’s hand
stills, a blurring of edges

occurring whenever it
falls, this fingerless glove shrill
doves calm their nerves rubbing on,
a touching of souls ledges

prevail against, eternal
solitude’s chortle fears its
folly ignored when love spills
onto the floor, comprehends

for once that, if one jumps, he’ll
only hit what hearts withstand.


Accidental ascetic,
his boots are coffins for sand
caravanning saffron calves
along hazardous lands proof

of god’s presence heaven sends
only when anaclitic
wisdom convinces him to
relent, end his revenge route

through this man’s thirst, and let this
hermit pass through his desert
without a prayer unheard, it’s
loneliest when the sky halves

a horizon’s ecliptic
so that his path vanishes.