You once thought of him as a fawn
but he turned satyr;
horns rose from his head
and he gouged your heart with them,
bucked you to the wall
Now, in his absence,
you fill your heart
with a violent fire cacophony,
vow to give it form
It will be a tryst
between you and the words,
the final love affair;
you will press yourself into paper,
your blood will be the watermark
The night stares at your hand
through the window, moves closer,
a black fox
You have gathered yourself
together for this;
you have been waiting, building
all your life this complex sepulchre,
this hymn for your heart’s
last
mad-muscle dancing;
and as the blood
ascends to its flowering,
you throw your fist into the page
which sings at last as you will it:
like a heavy bludgeon thunder
echoing in frozen snow