Mercury

The quicksilver spill

off clenched fingertips

grabbing for twilight’s dodge

the slippery luminous fluid

of unbound inspiration

dropping from a comet’s pass,

as liquid wings unfurl

to swirl and pour

between the puttied

cracks.

As if we could hold on to

the silvered drops

of metallic blood

shed by some careless

low-flying god,

cut against the sharp edges

and rusty nails we hammer

to hold ourselves firmly

tightly

against the earth.