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For this grand song, time paces itself
Brusk like a wooden runner
It marches on- common nods proclaim
Drum beat drum beat drum beat on
Each hard/footstomp/razorthickblackboot
Stomp/ss/bastard/forward
But for this my gentle one, bringing kindness to my own
Eyes- they crinkle upon you- knowing your sound and
The rich fine timbre of your sweetness.
Green I say to you- blue you answer- both we know
These colors spend royal like lovers on horses
Silvers within wind- a song before summer
Sand before rain, bells upon a holy Easter morn…
Yea. I would pray with you. 'Tis time we reconstitute God.
To let him out of his dark prison- ask him if he's ready
to love us yet.
He will laugh with us, with his white teeth flashing/ Such
A fine God he is, dressed in his best hat and fiddle.
My grandfather wore a hat like that before he died- he too
was class and I think that now he
dresses God just for me
so we will know each other
meet like strangers, part like lovers
our ways foreign to a mortal
child- but lovers aren’t mere children they are past
that. They have gone beyond and have become shy.
For this we pity-love them/ we envy-hate them/ we
all wish we could be them
only sometimes.
We are better than lovers, better than hazelnuts
yea- branches over
the widest of places and
our roots entwine.
Even the frozen stream may pale- we are stronger.
We are November dwelling in soil and dead cicadas
/sleep, slight green thing, willow on the eastern shore.
When you wake it will be to spring- fair lady.
Autumn sweeps sudden past- heavy orange and red
She is proud and hard to reach. She is
haughty she is
So fond
of green apples.
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