His eyes are ash and flame and junkie dreams,
his split-seam voice a screen from self-deception -
he has none.
He drags on his cigarette, and puts it out.
Ashtray-ash, an empty vessel.
"It is ash," he says.
"Bit it is also embers. It is easy to be
a turtle, or a snake, groundseekers, safe,
shelled and loving.
a phoenix, though it is painful,
and fly true."
"If there is love, let it be love.
There is a time for for broken cups,
there is even time for sweeping.
There is no time