HOPE

Who said that a curve, gold, desire all come to an end
And so does the true sound of moon reflecting off marble
And the perfect pleating of elytra
On movie screen casting its tender protection?

Frisk me
In my pocket you’ll find feathers a bird’s virtue
Crumbs in search of bread, moth-eaten gods
Words of love eternal without
A flight plan
And the hidden path of the waves.