I am not ready for the temple
but
neither
am I ready
for the market.
Leave me, I
pray, a little
longer
amongst my icy candles
that light my bitter
lonely rooms.
When spring comes (and
the seasons follow no
order) you’ll find me
heading
all queues of
worldly
bravery.
Just give me
a few more
days for
cowardice
and
the
flickering
dark.