The Small Bit

O faithless husband
I pity you 
your small heart 
your weak mind
are no match for me:
lion - I am
Aslan to your barrenness
and I smile
on your silence
which is
loud in explication
of all you are
and are not - my
love crosses the miles
redeems your dear
fingers, the king
is in his counting
house, gleeful
at the gold piled,
high enough to
suffocate - high
enough to
bar the gate to
health and height
of stature
diminishing by the
years it measures,
all returns are
in and found -
you are
no new land
but the contours fit
so wear it well
your small map.
your small bit.

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