Every hopeless cause has its adherents--
Holding down day jobs.
Look at old Zeus, with his television and his Tylenol--
Does what she will,
Out all night
With her owl to guide her home down the flagstones in the morning.
It is some kind of holiday--
Bastille Day, or
Crow's Easter, who knows?
It isn't true that photographs steal souls,
But time does.
Let others riot in the streets--
All women hold the hours in their hands,
And so it is wise to kiss her wrists,
Hold the shell in your fingers,
Taste the halved apple,
Preserve her name on a silver chain around your throat, and if she remembers you
You will own a delicious secret;
Remember it when you are old and invisible,
Sweeping the flagstones in the morning as Athena goes lightly past,
Someone's name on her lips
As yours once was--
Our Lady Of Impossible Causes,
Is it so unlikely to think that
Still lights a candle