The Slave - Art Bears

Once as the sun was setting

A slave came to the gate

Day dying

On its fiery tongue

An obol lay

Of copper spun

Then did we dream?

Or were our houses

Lambent gold?

In Winter’s pool

Did glory pass

And hold us speechless

In its spell?

Where he had fallen

Used and cast aside

All he had touched

Was trembling and alive —

Each life is present

In this way:

Each fashioned thing

Speaks of its change