Complications
In the morning
Tangles in the brush
Are just accents,
Not even really dissonance
In beauty.

Upon closer examination
The cords and vines
Were united in harmony.
Even choking death is just another plant,
Ravens and mockingbirds unite
In this ultimate symphony

The harvest will only yield so much sympathy,
Lovers and losers
Brothers, abusers--
From the altar of the morning,
Watching the brush breathe
A little more than it tangles.