Jeff Clark

 

FUNESTE

If the smoke should go out
of my mouth and into
the jeweler's room,

if dawn should blue up now
his sash the plume goes through,
sucked out and upswooned,

if the jeweler's dawn
be fog-sodden or rued
by memory-beacons,

if I should write I down,
if I should now ruin
this dawn, return, he dies.