Dance Fools Dance

Arnaldo, grasping at everything, gaining nothing. Random
as
a
moth,

and every bit as compelled.

The wicked flee
where none
pursue.

(perhaps this

badness was always within him, a cancerous rot
awaiting only a few drops of rain
to bring it forth.

A few drops of blood.)

Below her window he sang dulcet sonnets
in a language she could not speak.

But hast done evil above all that were before thee:
for thou hast gone and made thee other gods, and molten images,
to provoke me to anger,
and hast cast me

behind thy back:

The crones perch like songbirds in their wire chairs as he walks by.
Knowing smiles that lance
his soul
like daggers.

Every sin that a man
doeth is without
the body
but he that committeth fornication
sinneth against his own body.

It was in the morning she was first missed.
All her work

left undone.

What Pegman Saw