I, the Wicked
Naked, I am forgiven,
waiting and wondering, without
apology. My life has been
the rotation of planets. My happiness—
mercury, climbing liquid of dreams.
I am the red submission of sunset.
Never did the gods laugh with me.
Night advanced, moody and feline,
and I became captive. My cohorts,
jackals and earthworms, seethed
with indifference. We danced like tumbleweed,
unbelievable, burning a crowd of green
with our weeded uprising.
And this is how it went,
when the end came, when time
boxed and electric, sagged
like an infant into my arms.
Morning acquiesced, I removed
the shackles and boarded the train
back home, back
to the lace and emptiness
of world. Judged still
I am a shadow.
Noontime,
the animals and I await
the crutch of sleep.
An old poem, but one I can’t really let go of. 
Amy Nawrocki 