Justice

Oh, the kingdoms your eyes have held
like stars carried in blue buckets of water --
like dashed power lines, snapping like dogs,
all-seeing like a red oak after a rain
with its mercury eyes

In the smallest of all these kingdoms
in the smallest of houses I,
for a long time lived,
and upon the customs in that lost country
I can only say that
you need but turn your head to cast a shadow
and for them it is night.

As sure as I am that
there will be a day when you topple,
blotting out the sun for days as you
crash miles slow to the mud,
brought low by the ropes of the mob of days
with their griefs and lights
and ropes and easily bought hearts

I am that I will pick my way
through the fields of your strewn hair,
over the geography of your cold hand
to see for myself
that big blue eye of yours
naked in the rain