The world may be your oyster, I am swallowed by it until
every sigh or sullen wish becomes a nebulous sign in a foreign sky.
It is in that world, blue upon blue, that light dazzles
only briefly, spent as a fallen star. It is enough to make the old women
nod their heads and the young ones bang their forks at table.
It is enough, this world the size of a marble, this speck of proof
that we bleed so much like each other, that tenderness wins
the hand, while the Joker snickers behind his ornamental fan.
And mercy swims the distance between cresting waves
and disappearing sand, long enough for you to decide