III

Even in darkness you see clearly the hands behind your

hands weaving a winceyette robe you can't bear to wear.

Or look at, for looking and doing are sibling acts

and corruption of the spirit always begins with a verb.

One day I will read these letters from the stool

of whichever loom I'll be sitting at weaving my delirium.

I want them to remind me my spirit was greater

than my hands so fallen dissolute wretched. Even in darkness.