Justice

Let it all collapse, and the atoms fall asunder
to the wide and friendly chaos of the sea.
Let the wrung hands wring their bones to dust
and the deaf ear hear the cracking of supports
and the candle gutter out.

Have you ever seen yourself asleep?
The blank repose casts you into a maximal
statue of nothing, like Eurydice
groping placidly in her blind cave.
This is your integrity, your longed-for freedom.

And when you awake to the high forlorn sun
and make your way to your station of toil,
the tension you feel in the base of your breast
is more like anger than repentance.
Backwards is your pilgrimage.