zafusy

My vealers muddle the call of vespers with their bells,
Surrounding me in rings as fingers pointing to blame.
And I have a while before I begin again.

Each day breaks imperfect and unstill, the sun splintered
Across the most tuneful larks, who hold their figures on frost.
And I have till darkness before I find the will.

The lichen latch to the night ground in the ravine
Where offerings, free of duty, fall from clouds of snow.
And I have this distance to travel before I turn around.

Aaron Koppel

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