Ignis Fatuus

Stockpiled behind tear ducts and between heartfibers
are little clusters of emotion just for you.

Each one glows
after every harmless compliment
you place in my hand
and fold my fingers over.

Some little bundles, though, elide
the warmth in your words, while

others quaff it -- like you would
sparkling wine, many a sip at
many a time right after midnight
when the new year
begins -- until
each comment in passing
turns

into a handsel of jade hanging from a
thin chain around my neck
or another added charm dangling from
small chainlinks around my wrists.

Then, even when overcast are
nimbus clouds, campus lawns are
verdant and the flowers that sprout
from three-leaved clovers
are precious. And my face is ridiculous
with erubescent undertones from so much
capering across pastures only I've seen
and watered.

There are also, of course,
rational voices inside which broadcast
adages that suddenly apply. They see the chimera
attacking neural networks
with purple fire. The voices flay
and suddenly there is my rigor mortis face with a
drumming heart and we walk
side by side you and I
as we have always.