I waltz within a
divine image
To music written in tongues I don't
Understand yet
Still
Makes the petal tops of
Victorian
brickwork ache midst itself

Lantern bellow
To sky rose and horn

We lift the dying to a
Place where even the

Lovely lay
Unburdened
With grief

A wet stone is
Quarreling with the
Guiding pressure of a river

A name destined for engraving
several times
Upon the grass
Where lovers waking feet do
Rest

"WATCH THE VETEREN BICYCLE STRIP OF
ITS PATHS
AND WEEP BENEATH THE
HARSH JANUARY TREELINE"

The birds perched above their crowned skulls
Are questioning the coming Spring with silence