Rough

The Little One 

with open 

hearted violence

punches and kicks

and sighs and grunts

and arches and rails

as the dark unwinds

its final strands.

In the tangled nest of bed

the mother and father 

and dog and child 

attend the wild fray

of night into the day.

On this rough 
morning along

the narrow

road of infinity

let us fight

with every 

exhausted breath

the razor wire 

of Standards

as light 

comes in a crash 

helmut flying

over the dome 

of the earth

through the furnace

forged glass

through our eyes

which do not see

and into the silent

storm which does.

.