"Horsefeathers"

Whip the white horses,
move the morning aside;
Sisyphus knows my load,
never eases.

Ghost of a city
I love: will the tracing suffice?
I'll let it be enough, the pencil shade
figuring the sacred outline...

Disregard--to business!
Business will not reduce the
Burden, but it will blind me,
and perhaps I won't care.

A series of bleary days
settle into the covers--
covered ground--or a nest,
all lined in down.

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Written: 8.23.05
Revised: 10.27.05
MWL