Don’t expect me to be light when I
carry your shadows; dusky wraiths
soldered to viscous insides.
Don’t expect me to be white when my
canvas is black; scarlet ridged,
and spattered with Clogau gold.
Don’t expect me to be right when I am
left with wrongs; tattered and scraped
to my battle-knifed knees.
Don’t expect me to fight when I have
already lost; ensigns hauled,
flag long surrendered.