Prelude

In the land of failed poets,
Brazen silhouettes cling on to December's summer
As a child plays with her reflection on her mother's heroin spoon.

Both breathe slowly, then heavily,
Then go to sleep in a watery meadow
Whose damp eyelids burn through, burn through.

Right now, it is eternity's last chance
To redeem its own crown of jewels
For a piece of our eternal present.

Right now, mother and child
Could face a life sentence of mundane beauty
Had their distant voiceless thoughts
Not left us to roam through the eye of a needle.