Ruin of the Green Citadel

There was once a forest so great
That the roots broke through from the north
To the Antipodes, but then
An army of rats gnawed it to bare stubs
Thoughts became gray tufts,
The remnants of dandelion clocks, wishes
That wandered into the forest
And were lost

Of what now remains,
These trees that can easily fit into
The cups of our hands
Now shelter us

The forest is forgotten, for men
Born blind cannot dream;
And we are happy to sit here, suckling on
The wind's fleeting raptures and miseries

All of this, the earth and wind, becomes ours
The inheritance of a wan forest
As silence resounds in the skin of peace,
Here lies our softest surrender yet.

A Cloud of Moths

Your grace lies in your promise
Of an afterbirth
Hollow lie of a twisted tongue
But, if your eyes placate me
My hands won't clasp another rung
Of your praise; you mean none
But a trip to the Devil
I've known you long enough
For your silence to profess
Your Magnanimity to all
But the insignificance that is Me,
But even so, thank-you for
The blinding reassurance
That drips from your mouth
Like a cloud of moths
Fading out to Phoebe.