Great Thane of Cawdor, my most dear of loves
Focus on each approaching word. You’ll creep
Into the quarters over and steal the sleep
Of your only obstacle before doves
In flight and sky- where your kingdom leads above.
If you can murder sleep, no bounds can keep
Heaven as your ceiling. Greatness can leap
Far beyond stars.
Yet nothing hides- no glove
Or soap, the stain that mars my flesh. How so
Does my skin burn? When I long ago
Had finished my damned deed. The moving woods
Approach the hill. And stunned, I think they could
Be right, the three old hags. And so I stand
Looking at these hands- bloody, awful hands.
-Joe Lagalante