checkered shadows in a glen
or human tailored light on baked and fired sand and mud
floating in air on hands to lips
seeming happenstance
your spoken mind to others assured
now found
in your mothers fucking love
the geography illusion
through barren vale
ocean and sky fusing into ruthless vast and gloomy
beasts of manner and prey
her nest scratched in black time
(of course shakespeare was a racist, he was a christian)