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Dave Bonta
hear him speak of release
the prison guard
an epicure of secrets
an unsafe door
a messenger from their last
day in the world
At the office, a play
with puppets. But
like puppets we do expect
a letting go.
Sudden March sun
as the world turns south
towards my release.
I am through with regret.
No more shall I kennel with pain.
I have called to this whimpering soul,
This soul that is sodden with tears
And sour with the reek of the years!
And now we shall glory in light!
Like a tatter of sail in the wind,
Like a tangle of net on the sand,
Like a hound stretched out in the heat,
My soul shall lie in the sun,
And be drowsy with peace,
And not think of the past!
With swift
Great sweep of her
Magnificent arm my pain
Clanged back the doors that shut my soul
From life.