Lead is the saddest metal of them all,
it used to be my blood, my toy and homeland.
And I had nothing... but I’d made my choice
for Magic Hope to be my seamstress.
We both played God... Although the seamstress
could not trust long my hollow promise.
She dressed me in a shirt of cloud
and fed me with the milk of snowflakes.
Instead of needles she would use a viper
to stitch me to the dust on pathways.
Though, she was such a delicate woman,
a doe, a cat that’s bright with sorrow.
She was so strong that she would rather
bisect her heart for me. And then – expel me
like blood that makes my lips taste bitter,
in an endearment lost forever.
My feeling now is that of a pin-cushion
and of a snake, or of a lonely feather.
And our soldier that survived the fire
Is just a piece of lead, a ghost, a shadow.
If you have pity for me, get a blow- torch
and help me quick disintegrate to atoms.
And from the flashing dots around me
tailor yourself a gown and veils to wear.
