These obsolete, lacerating words I’m carving
my haggard life into
with
numb and shapeless fingers
are actually miscarrying themselves…
I cannot be blamed, as
we do not blame nature
for the lioness’ den
or for the shameless skin of the snake!
Yet I could be put to death,
but only for that thoughtless light growing ripe
in my backward footsteps’ puddles...
Have you found the rope
worthy
of my weightless body?