All

Distress,
let it be fierce as aloes,
still,

it goes unreckoned,
fills no tally,
shores up no account.

A desert parches.

Let it be wide enough,
bare enough,

you bleach there.

That is all.

They lie

who summon consolation:
the shorn lamb
and the tempered wind.

Let the wind be cold enough,
the lamb freezes.

That is all.