Pear Poem 2

you’d tell me tribute is futile ego homage, 
but that’s my work, I’d tell you I’m wax melting 
into a pool, almost catching your heron face  
on fire, then cleaning it up - not wanting to bother anyone, 
not trying to leave a trace but also starved for 
devotional landmarks, just not a singed egg yolk rug that 
belongs to my boss. You screech for a better try, 
flimsy conviction not weak but mutable, 
humble as in laugh at yourself as loud as 

any unhinged stranger 
letting the world bruise 
you true