His long fingers clenched into their palms
His dark eyes were black with intent
Every elongated pause was an intricate harmony
gracefully accompanying the words
that tumbled from his cracked lips
He heightened himself and leaned in earnestly
Feverish want spilling into his rich voice
revealing the fear that had bloomed in his ribcage over the years
Fear that snaked up his throat and caught there
restricting his temperament
Fear that rose from knowledge of failure

Failure indeed lurked sickeningly
In the frosty air
In the purple autumn shadows
In the smell of hot cement
In the satiny pearl petals of the dogwood his mother had planted

He was a single smooth stone in an endless riverbed
Shaped by
the restlessness that flooded him
the desire that washed over him
the nostalgia that swept around him

Frantic to break out of the flow that was accepted by the crowds
Desperate for the peace that surpasses understanding

And in that moment
his finite experience and crooked path
meant less to her than the last of the cigarette she proceeded to flick into the breeze
Outweighed by her faith in the lighthearted boy trapped inside this troubled man's body

the reticent bard sits,
strung on a fence.

his fear of leaping
one side or t'other
has given him a sore ***;
he's sat there for years.

his songs, sung to the birds
of the field, fly softly through
the air.

and not a one hears him
and not a one cares,
the reticent bard reflects

his contemplation lost
to an audience unhearing

the birds of the field,
hearing his sighs,
wing their flight
to places unknown.

our dear bard,
in solitude laments
his yearning

the reticent bard has forgotten
the majestic ministration of words.

that mysterious music
which sings into the air,
and returns magic,
far and near.

--bruised orange