Knack to Promise
Rust string spun transformer-like round
my bent index
anchors your paper flight;
a dragon less
tyrannical. Many wishes tax
the voltage of
your Talisman powers,
from this
place. Mine's to know what you know.
Minus the
pompous tones, I mean. I'm in a mood
to hear simpler
godly things. Hard decades spent
asking, as
against your easy millennia. Fruits of
this.
Speak to me
through the mild rustlings of your paper body
Speak to me through the sun on your
serpent spine, as you fly
Speak to me through the
twang and hum of your taut string
Cornered to
this vantage
I'm able to
promise
to listen and
remember
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