Epigram ‘n Aphorism Samwiches

In Death

With Cup Seeking Knowledge In Death

From a dull tin pulled from drab pack,
I scoop, almost greedily,
from found, clear pool in creek shadowed green,
straining to arrive
below twig, along furrowing root
to supply a dry mouth.

I know thirst, eager to sate.
But from the right angle, gleam —
earliest, the sun discovers my crime.

I see the bottom. My health longs
invigorate in your clear minerals bonded,
as mysterious as the air I trust inhale.
Denied. Rust cup slides
through the well-worn seams released 
in unruly forest, where skin scrapes,
infects flesh, ravaged evilly.

I was sent there. Sent away
from angling light now mocking a dreamer.
This forest is dead but for me.
Two diseased hands steal your ample,
pure flow for knowledge.
I roam unbound forever and unfound —
malnourished, yearn safe harbor
sealed in a black divide,
where moon and stars spin high,
remind
I’ll not be alone in death.

4.23.22
4.26.22 edit

Must not obsessively pull on those strings of images that need no definition.