LUKE         EVANS

The Lays of Philanthropy

 

Henry found hope in the shapes

of coconut shavings

when he stirred his cappuccino

as the whipped cream crested and billowed.

He sucked coffee through a stirrer

and peered at cars

sipping petroleum at the in-and-out station,

at the man in quarantine on the steps of the mart

with a smoke.

 

Henry found faith beneath a street lamp

at night as he stared at a crack

in the walk. Gentle rain as a proxy

for disobedient tears

stream-lined the angles of his cheekbones

while bronchitis cloaked his convulsions.

He found darkness more honest

than the halo of glow

tracing rain.

 

Henry found love asleep

in a tree on a cold night of frost

in the spring.

He dreamed of stars and crystalline snow

and glittering sapphire hoards

adorning dragon claws.

When he woke, the static of frost

etched on his glasses

mantled the owl, its head in reversion,

silently glaring.

 

Henry found salvation on the cusp

of a cliff and a view

ravaged by mist.

A seeding dandelion

replaced all the stars in the sky

as he blew with a gust

and each silver seed caught a breeze

for a meadow.

Not a one thanked him as they dollied away

and left Henry alone

on a cliff.

​

--as appeared in Etchings magazine

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