44th Fear

I fear the foul and hollow heart
that cannot beat alone;
the ever-rooted soul departs
behind its brittle bone.
It tries to fracture fire!
Or warp a willow tree
into a pine among the mire—
a serf among the sea.

Dread the day this disposition
gives its hand to you—
a fetid siren faintly singing
eulogies for two;
it brings a velvet bouquet
bearing thorns and wilting heads—
a habit of desire—
tradition for the dead.

But I have seen the Mistletoe,
emerald life upon a tree—
outlasting every thorny Rose
ever sent to me.

Waning

CI

44