Curfew

some of us
will leave our lanes

to cover
this fire to crush

this haughty
flame yet once

again: a furnace
that still burns

us with its
pretty look

daddy fur
and severed

paws pouring forth
beauty like heaped-

up coals on our
ugly heads

and haunting
our slinking off

to our
abednego beds

if my heart

if my heart were a beam
in abandoned barn

and if there were a loft
with standable floor

there’d be ― trust me ― patient
bees boring perfect

holes snowing powdered
sugar on the boards

below