The Joy of a Sorrowful Life.

Let it be the end of all that,

the drapes drawn in on windows,

to keep our silent deaths from smiling

out into the bright, unsullied world.

Every word comes drawing

its own conclusions. The heart shuttering,

the sail at half mast, the hopeful wind,

and its lonesome urging hands.

A thousand tiny details to make a life

but a margin larger. The tiny bird

that batters its cage, and makes with its wings

a terrible storm.