Loose Musing on the Eve
Posing on the brink of an idea
Losing sunlight in the afternoon
Starting to blink in the glow of fire
Righting the water of despair
Sweltering sun and deep notions
The mind can filter
The edges of questions
Where the heart tenders
Make smiles a target
No stealing blooms
They held their tents
But let the trees think
Left open the stars
Cracked open the moon
Waited by the ink waters
Blaming the grid of eyeless sorrow
Shaming the beauty lost on stress
Naming each blossom after its fist
Cramming mud into the valley
Deluding a masterful stroke
Do you stand with the anchor?
Is your soil too heavy to bear?
Do you hope to vanish before dawn?
Do you blame fingers for stopping?
Are you spilling courage over rocks?
Maybe the shovel will move to the center
Where indifferent buds fling frost to the wind
Maybe the carriage is already full of bodies
Perhaps a stiff branch will stop the breeze
Perhaps craving hope will erase blind fury
Will an insult count in the bosom of dankness
Where the lilies grow bleak from taint
Where the roses tend worms and minutes?
Will the dream come slow and forceful
Or will the nightmare block all sight?
Using the breath to rise from the ground
Amusing the tickle in the brain of sound.
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