The Neat Square
Caught in the glow of winter, a yard of rope is hung like a ladder to heaven, the ray of light is organized like a neat square, rainy afternoon, come gather your stormy shells, for what is left of tomorrow is only the casket from which we deal, like cards cast on the table, like a cat that has no claws, like a situation that is viable, and a religion that dreams of tear-drops gathered in round circle, we cannot forfeit tomorrow, for today's dream, there in the distance is a world without a face, come and embrace it, neatly the corners fold into a square, someday we will be free, to shape the clay into our own image, but for now the claw is iron bound.
Reprinted by kind permission of the Regents of the University of California,
Bancroft Library, Berkeley. Gift of Diane Walker Murray