Parzuf 
 
The fear that shapes his mouth springs
highwide to perfection of his jaw,
but hard to convey like a gut-feeling,
returns manic to a solid and restores
tablets broken by faith in low grade ore
of a calf—reconciled, he thinks, in oblique
intent to remove dross and focus on the tongue.   
Letters fly off the lips to topple a smile
against the odds of losing what is hidden:
not to death, but to extinction without trace
and therefore without ever having been
equal in some rigor of rising, to mend
finally what breaks at every turn,
light against light that must collide
highwide to perfection to be.