in my blacks

my black coat flaunts its stains
as variations on its dark plain. I
am clad in shifting shadow
sky clad black
matching clouds of waiting rain

my coat of many inks, no unity
in its thick wool folds,
within I am dirty -no downfall
will banish my guilt, or filth
my mask is tight black, criminal

but, at black's most distant rim,
( colour hums a null and void)
I find my mark, with mid-air wings;
I will not join its frail flight
though; rapt, I am, in my blacks,
of coat, mask, soul, air




Note: this poem is a lipogram. No e.