Is there only a moon
And stars and silence?
And I see night as it is,
As a stillness settles over
And irragates the silence.
And a dripping faucet,
And I breathe in
And a drip,
And I breathe out And nothing changes.
And the pen conspires With my soul.
And everything turns
On its axis
And you dream of headwinds and far off Tahiti.
As you live
With the briar
And rose
As seasons
Slant with the sun.
And I broke
On the wheel
I wish
For no one.
We are bound up
In Glory
And laid low
In sin.
And November creaks
In crevices of night.
And the moon is
Pale And cold.
And your pen is a
Beast bucking
The gate.
And you finally
Let it run.