The poet is a butcher
who flays the wild beast
and peels back the dusty hide
to reveal muscle and bone
and the heart that once beat beneath.
There is skill and art
in the way he carves the meat,
trims the fat, exposes the grain
of truth in the tender, succulent
morsels that nourish.
The poet is a diver
who plumbs the depths for pearls,
milky tears shed into the sea
by a god who could not bear
a beauty too fine and rare.
The strand of shining moons
that light her night-clad breast,
and the blood-red steak
on bone-white china,
remind the poet of what comes next.
