Diana Senechal

Crash of word, afterlight,
shatterer of afternoons,
when you come again,

rouse the rain, hurl it all
the way down to our enbalmed
corpse of compromise.

Ken your way there and back,
cross the firmament and bell-
ow your jagged streak,

not to be calligraphed,
nor fit for parenthesis;
end the otherwise.

Good the life that dares re-
sound: I awoke to and lost
two shivers of bright

reckoning; nonetheless,
I have since become the third,
I am blazing home.