Survival March 20, 2008

By his feet snails live and die one night

the water leaves him as soon as his touch

glorifies one night; one night fire burns

in the Tower inviting the hostage of warmth.

The Fool needs a magic word; he needs the residents

with their welcoming smiles; one face popping out

from the window above; a few more ushering

him in; arms and legs attached pell-mell

convincingly.

Carelessly the Fool meditates-

“How black her heart is
from her smiling lips her words bring unease.
Rapunzel I bring you fruits of a desert long-hidden
now she has come out of her veil
see her remove its veil
see her remove the veil
of her smile
more than you Rapunzel
you fade
you fade dear
her smile is my mask of death.”

Dry as husk the Fool is.

The Tower is a cool shade in the morning.

Mournfully the Fool walks away.