You, the Never Coming

You, the never coming

I, wait for sweat

To drip from my forehead

And lay to rest

What never came

I, the bird-bone mind

You, the lit flame

Flung forth at the breath of the sky

Forget the avenue, the limp drain

And embrace the draught from distilled sugarcane

A wired two

In the end sewn shut by the few

The many-headed horse who plunders

The hillock for the game of spoons

Buried beneath orange leaves

A hunger faces the cross

The Unforgiven in the word of loss

Ne’er spoke of evening

You, in the pale smoke

At the back of my mind

I, the dripping fat o’er

The glass flame

Repeat what you never said

I await the open-mouth of the hardwood floor