kinder hands stand on their own
let me be a magician
a magic man that can hold back his smile
and drop it on you like a ten pound sack of rice
i don't want to rush to judgements
or judge the rushes that grow along the river
the horse tails and catnip slipping into the pool
just down past the junction, where the crooked moon hangs all night
like a vagrant light that steals beauty from the still pines
shouldered like a soldier's musket
tightening the belt, adding new notches
spring won't be coming round here no.
it won't be filteing the coolness out of the air
the ice out of the fog
the lightning strikes hair splitting end of the world
is coming
is falling tomorrow
on the beginning of the last march, or last aprils apricots
rotting.
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