there is a lantern above.
its light: reflected in his glass of elixir
(imbibed, constantly);

the sick puppy trips over its own
too-big ears, too-big paws
as it hurtles itself towards Love.

(as though It were some end;
as though It held Answers;
as though It would Hold the poor animal)

there are hot gobbets of saltwater
oozing from a place adorned with secrecies;
paroxysms like a viole(n)t fluttering

shudder their way
through the spaces between
rib-bones and brain-stones

and muddled thoughts: trapped and languishing
in the empty space where a life--
where dreams and a childhood and

some misguided Hope for the Future--
once flourished so brazenly;
there is a lantern above.

Not warm, like magic;
but cold, like starlight.