William

18

My name is not your slave. It's so unknown
that even postcard letters slip it by.
A grayish length of air off wind and bone;
uncertain rain through afternoon's white sky.
It's like this, too: Rehoboth, Lewes lay,
the salty, sticky mess of beach, reclined.
The crushing, lonely gratitude that day:
What made me fear the ones with whom I dined?
T-Mac, fatigued, seems ready to collapse,
And so am I; I'm happy, just subdued.
A break from panic means I will relapse
in blueness now, a weary change of mood.
Oh heaven help the one who's tempted twice,
by lust, conceit; and blinking, pays the price.