Take this delicacy
from its petal-sheath

send it shuddering
into the gulf,
through prism-teeth and
points along this lineage severe
where legible death is invented;

i have seen the flywheel
escape manipulation,

punch through the housing
spinning its jewel-fleck
into silence
on limbs of sky.

for the word that wounds life,

to the senescence that
drags a writhen youth
into its tumulus of fear,

bricking in
the last crenel.

Beneath the indivisible signet
the darkness toys with its secret—

but they shall know
neither the poise
nor the balance
that lifts a million faces of light
out of a burthen of cinders.


(c) Seth Grube