My aim is thin.

My aim is thin for focused person, glory

I march possessed towards myself,

Mirrors portraits and every angle, one nail and string,

hang of me along the hall.

At each door, I hear a pounding.

The carpet catches and greet my gate

and palms burn from the sudden ground;

The ready Hand to lift my Fall

Is not for me, I surely use my own,

and sing praise in thanks for the offer.

I trust my five and most my eyes

and trust that twenty one is enough

to know what should and could to turn

my life and bend as I find worth

My mirrors, persons, lists, and me along the hall,

yet at each door, a Figure stoops to wait.  

 

Nov. '04