—
On the precipice of longing,
on the precipice of grief;
on the precipice of sickness
that might come as a relief;
on the precipice of wisdom,
on a bed of burning coal:

I played upon my heartstrings,
to ameliorate my soul.
_

— —
On a day of witches, burning
on a pillar of the past;
on a day of children, learning
equanimity won’t last;
on a day of angry elements
that calcified on cue:

I tumbled from the precipice,
and broke some part of you.
_ _

— — —
On the side of branching outward,
at the edge of giving in;
on the brink of looking forward —
past the victim, to the sin;
on the verge of moaning, loudly,
there is never time to sleep:

I’ll confess to you, my darling,
how I never learned to weep.
_ _ _

— — — —
Then on the precipice of triumph,
on the precipice of joy;
on the precipice of growing
from a toady, to a boy;
at the sight of vindication,
in the moment I revere:

you’ll introduce a new protector,
and revive my conquered fear.
_ _ _ _

— — — — —
With all the instruments of science
and the implements of spell,
I cross the old and rotten drawbridge
for a chance to ring your bell.
Although I wait upon your front porch,
you’ve been smoking by the rear.

My new epiphanies all seek you…
but find ashes every year.
_ _ _ _ _