the bulky clouds swish whitewash
across the embers of my eyes.
Earth and sky and horizon melt
like gruesome wax faces left drying
too close to the artisan’s flames.
his hands, tired and cracked
shave and chip shards and bits
of dust from the cold facade
perusing the countenance buried
deep within every living stone.
you roughcast my heart in haste
with your weary words and dreary
skies. you incise, in gory detail, the
exquisite nature of my reticent soul
and set the pieces in saturated white light,
for all the world to see.