you fold your wings into this merciful night with its permanently
jaundice-yellow eyes

not until

the taunted moon has finally tossed
the outdated coin of her brow
onto this dark's unyielding
monopoly

not until

incessant expedient pieties have folded
their polluting loudspeakers into
triangles of unborn stone

not until

labyrinths of mosquito coils have given
up their secrets in piles of childlike
wordless ash

not until

i free these rosaries  wilted into walls of peeling pink

not until

the wind, the sun & the waves perform
their last ablutions
on these hands

not until then

perhaps not even then