The Meaning of our Light
by Darryl Price
The pencil pushes the
paper deeper into
itself because a blank
landscape provides the secrets
to everything at
once. Ninety-nine percent
of the people don't care
about your seeking justice
for the murdered circus
animals. You know
who I am. I've never
been just tomorrow's light
rain today. The pencil
tattoos everything in
its path with a skull, flowers
between its missing
teeth. I'm still going to
miss you. The pencil's not
the unkind one acting
out here. My love will last.
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