When the night
                 rubs out the horizon
                 and all this black
                 has more the quality of shade

and all the copsed trees
                cluster round sleeping fields
                and buried life waits and looks,

a door in a heap of lived-in-stones opens
               neon turns the cowshed
               into some kind of church.

This is the drained time,
              the false dawn
              that makes the morning man start.

She was as light as a feather
Carried on the sweetest wind.
A tonne weight locked
Around my fiercely protective heart.
As sure as an apple falling from a tree,
She brought uncertainties in abundance.
Physics had no question
For the answer she gave.

WE ÐIEŦħ
DAILҰ;
T㊉ BE REB㊉RN.




©BRANÐ㊉N NAGLEҰ
©L㊉NES㊉ME P㊉EŦS P㊉EŦRҰ

The seasons keep changing
She said
Green slowly turning red
Quickly falling as nature bled
I want to catch them, keep these leaves from
spinning about her head
A pretty, delicate dance our mother holds
calling us to get fed

Fruit of the spirit
Father preached
Stretch up and pluck your pick
A peach for each
Keeps the grey night at bay
Avoiding a breach
Fight the seasons or look up and pray for
Earth can never be impeached

The seasons continue to pass
Sister sang
Clouds roll through the grass
Sun shines dim as thunder clangs
I bring a basket through the fields
Out of the rain, slam the barn with a bang
Sit down and nourish
The seasons change but our seeds
Will flourish

Black and white dreams
Less conventional
            it seems
Yet,
         I still believe
That too
    many
colors
Can fade out
        the true meaning
And if
       I dream of death
Then it's *just
                   the beginning