Something

I want to tell you something in the way that one tells the truth.

Old friend, you flit like belief in the river god—

your lip-curling heart besmirches your passing life.

Your courage lasts like the relapse

and your conscience only the involuntary shuddering

of a historical kindness.

Do not blame circumstance;

its blame does not regard you.

We know, how you feel yourself alone

right hand holding your left,

but do not deem to say

that this is why day after day after day

you take those snips out of your soul

with that small pair of origami scissors.

Take those wandering eyes home,

bathe them in saltwater and white vinegar.

When you wake, in the afternoon,

fashion yourself a face

in the residue of your tears.