By James Elzie
As I grow older look over my shoulder,
emboldened, emblazoned with sentiment colder
than ice in a floe. Of rain frozen so
solid as to forge gold and enfold
the sea in its thick, and atmospheric
grinding of mandible
as we work to dismantle.
As the work is dismantled, the jaw all a-canticle;
the tongue as thick, as untangling verbs
that stick on your tongue like the frozen knife;
the heat of angry years bursts forth in torrents of tears.
Etched and engraved, the words that you gave,
as, looking over my shoulder,
your world grew no older.
Clamor 