Can Cardinals wear secret coats?
Waiting for a gray beard
To cross the plains
Tell us something wise
Make our cries fall quiet
Old hands, that they are
Old hat, not so much
Some of us are on rooftops
And some in basements
Seeming standing on the ceilings
Throats open for the promised yells
We can’t remember how once we uttered
So instead we shudder at how shuttered
Our little rooms we live in are
And can only force a stutter
Lank and loose with dull eyes gleaming
But bored and dead unable to find the siren sound that cuts our thoughts and feelings
The echoed noise of our minds weeping