We wear hats
Our heads are warm
though cold-colored constellations
paint peace to the third war world
Green-brown grass slips our soles
into warm waves of supple safety
the reality race of brightening blue sky
We turn sideways
The lulling sound
of diesel dainty maelströms
veil valleys in invented ebbs
While cadences cascade above
in ruby-wooded waterclouds
overjoyed to dazzle a new day
What chance expanded beauty to grief?
What coincidence speared terror for sight?
The priceless coins that drip down trees
Surprise no one – we must leave to hear
The canyon tones of love
MH // winter 2014
No comments:
Post a Comment