Recalibration Poem by Mark Heathcote

What contains our memories will fail-
But let's hope brackish sweetness is in each pail.
When poured back to the source of creation...
Let's hope it's only an exhumation.
Recalibration, levitation…

What contains a woman's moonlit breast?
Is what contents my hazy eyes holy rest?
Whenever I can contain my misty breath.
I look at her melting into death.
It's then that I feel at my most empty—bereft.

What contains a young child's foolish dreams?
What secretly leads me to my extremes?
Feeling so lonely, I look deeper.
Into despair and glimpsed the reaper...
The martyr of all my blues, like a happy fakir.