Him and He and I

Days shine bright and fetid like rotten wood

Each sun's inhale and her shunned sister's sigh

Frame unfoldings I never understood 

The diving bell to my penned butterfly. 

Said Javert from within; 'the stars are cold', 

While Jean seals the triad with addled ties,  

24601 in every thought and encrypted hand-hold, 

My Lucifer burns, but what is fall, what is rise? 

Hot sand is heated by flickers and morphed

To the compressed glass of my windowpanes

When cold kisses the cooling transience 

So the lens shatters to sand again. 

Glass, sand, glass, sand, glass, sand, glass, sand, flicker

between each metamorphosis like I 

Do between fragmented stanzas and lost

enjambments; I was rhyming but gave up. 

'I am reaching, but I fall', joining Javert

In his logical curtain-call.