Orphan Coin

In the night I write poems of the light,
conjure the dawn before it cracks the sky
I am blind-sighted and mind-sighted, scattered
as stars across threshing floor of failed time

this second working after that of day
reworks remembered to sing its own myth
in the rucksack of troubadour moonstruck
upon a road that has no map...except

airy imprint of what…