Dusty light, flares and sparks that float like feathers
descend from the iron cap of that metal tunnel.
Muddy water, like rain at a surveyor’s camp, lines the bottom
making a sweet path between its canvas walls.
Stones, large rocks, lay stagnant in the river
disrupting flow and helping walkers maneuver that metal tunnel.
Muddy water kept clear of my soles as I stood in the dusty light against one wall,
canvassing the other and plotting my revenge upon the artist behind the mask.
What was once my heartstone was hidden. My creation, My pride
once lay against that wall in that metal tunnel, formed by sweat
and formed by paint, the symbol of my youth stood protected by
the unnoticing, uncaring cars above. A mask lay paved over my raven.
In the dusty light, in the feathery flares and sparks
I stepped forward. I missed the footpath’s stones on purpose,
I stepped in the muddy water with all my might and I watched as dusty dirt
mixed with water slapping against the perpetrator’s mask and caked itself in destruction.