Sunday. 5:00 a.m. The lizard speaks.
The morning comes at last, and so the dead
Of night retreats into the corners whence,
Eating only skin myself had shed,
I dropped some mortal flesh in vain defense.
O God of lizards, I am cold, and seek
The light and warmth that quicken from above,
As once was promised to the small and meek,
For they say I am the easiest to love.
To love! the inner hollows blossom pink,
In mock’ry of the gracious love that You
Bestow on all who need, and feel, and think;
Whilst I, forgotten and enclosed pursue,
‘Cross bedrock, paper, glass, and burning sand,
The thermo-regulation of the damned.