There is something to be said about a black man
who might make himself a bioethicist & clone
his shame to be something preserved in amber;
how his calligraphy is made the canary in the coal mine
of a facet that is to become the disfigured side
of a boy, & how he might become the pawn in the
chessboard the universe uses as an exemplar of one
falling off a Cliffside. There is something to be said
about a black man who believes that when a diamond flaws,
it sparkles better & so he makes his skin pass for parchments
where appraisals of fabrics to cover his loneliness are
written. There is something to be said about a black man
who knows why you have to cut roses during winter
so that come spring they bloom again.