Take my final utterance
and disperse it below,
avoiding the mention of heathens
hanging by the edges of
denuded moonlights and visions
steeped in worry for the possibility
that refused the piercing psalm
of the one-eyed cockcrow.
Consume this docile flower
with my laughter in mind,
and the slight stroke of your hand
against where my face used to be.
Recall the quiet sway of brittle trees
poised for celebratory gyrations
in honor of disjointed myths
and weather-beaten pantheons
of mindless gods.
Art: “La bonne aventure”