How does one bring the truth out of oneself

when smiling faces play games on concrete

and vanity seeks to couple itself,

when time fuses into eyes, hands and feet?:

The eye is a charm on a medallion;

the golden cataracts ripple upstream;

there are rocks to avoid and a squadron

of livid lizard tails to cut and clean:

Caught on the threshold of a slamming door,

I lost a limb so many years ago –

it was a magical appendage for

all us children whose hopes fluttered aglow:

The orange bar where I drank from our root

was covered in citrus, flame – now bones, soot.