I want to be hanged from a minaret
for the heresy of finding the perfect word
perhaps what Eve, beside the tree, said
to herself
I want to grow candles in my silhouette
selling two shadows for the price of form
returning from seasons I accepted for themselves.
my only regret is not to be able to be everywhere at once.
and one day I will shove a hollow horse into you,
out and all around will fall the pretenders
claiming to forgive you.
