Castor


Gemini's hemorrhage, May's plasma sky,
Sprung from fowl mute held with trumpeted force;
Begged sweet sentience, then fused at the thigh,
Would I were deathless we'd never divorce.
I'd quell the malignant fuller of Mars
To have it so my fair kin could be here;
With wetted fingers douse a thousand stars
And in darkness your breath would dry my tear:
But then--the truth of who you were creeps in.
For false heaven's chuckle you'd sell our world!
So many wrongs had you done through a grin,
Every locution and vocable curled.
When lying alone at night in our beds--
Even we miss each true fault of our dead's.

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