It cannot grow colder than this hour.
Strange men are gathered again
Drinking and singing. A different young man
Sits in their midst dressed in a uniform.
We are well into the night. Black moon.
With candle and spoon they examine its mouth.
A man with dead soul and dog-licked knuckles
Eats from a paper plate.
I'm going to lie down next to you
As if nothing has happened:
Boot, shoemaker's knife, woman,
Your point bearing to my heart's true north.
*
This is a tale with a kernel.
You'll have to use your own teeth to crack it.
