Abandoning disguise, any
gratitude
for the faithless, he curls into
himself
like paper burning—
It’s an old movie.
Dead-bolts exaggerate the
silence.
Deep inside himself, he remembers
the careless languages
of salvation. Exotic. Unashamed—Everything
all of a sudden.
But time is passing, moving the
air
as breath does.
He opens the door. Remedies
gleam.
Cracks appear
in the tireless dark—
There’s no strangeness
he cannot love.
