38. "Night of the Perseids"

''The occupation of my fingers waves'
Apricot dawn, floating Saturn delves

And eyeball bling reflects the fiery columns
On some dark plain where nothing living moves

And i can't see the way ahead, nor summon
More than the shadow cast by old resolves

And this rich swarm, tuned to a cheerful drone
Creeps to its mundane Calvary in droves

And nothing i'll ever write can hope to carve
What moonlight through a break in the verdure carves

And slowly to a boil the lobster pot
Of Earth, unchecked, still grows though no one grieves

And she i love does not receive her due
Nor flourishes in the rain of random knives