A blacker week in tow, picking up spatter, tarred by friends,
kin and foe.
Left myself darker for the work, the sage chimney sweep.
Harboring their pain and causing more.
I burn it here with crucible and cauldron.
Regret, act, mumble and spell.
What ghost is this that will claw and clean me well.
Only the trust, faith, and thralling freedom can be brought
to bear.
With teeth we face this wind.
With this kite, I keep taut the string.
Pulling for all of us.
