in a few weeks i'll wear black. climb
the town then claim the woods. crouch and

watch the sinew rampant in the breeze -- floss
on a line after a kill. achilles was never
so proud. so undetected and yet so void
of glory. success.

and naked strength in that selfsame breeze (all
quivers and hair) i am bare -- nimble toes all
crisp on an autumn-blackened trail.

ideals are stealth. a sure shot -- i pierce
the hourglass and even morpheus stiffens. gray
thwarts the sky with wisps. and in a few weeks

the soot will clear from bones. gloved.
careful. i transcribe experience. and
dress. i know black.
i know.