Damaged Goods

How many fallen leaves
will marmalade
this forest floor?
How many rising breaths
to clear your clouded heavens?
Will you my son then hear
In this your dimming age
the watery echoes of my tears
across the years.

On this third crow cry deny
The healing hand laid bare
In friendship before the gate
Now petal fingers closed
On skewered palm
Clenched fist
in the suspicious night

She lies lake bottom still
and yet holds your caliburn mind
Enslaved in her broken waters
That silent poisoned pool
Of hard man's icy pearls
Frozen crocodile tears
A cold fish in a cold sea