Sickly undulating valves and pipes encircle
And cull the morale of the landscape
The shatterings of the trees displayed in impossible pattern
In unlikely concordance with the ephemeral air
Am I mad to listen to the branches?
I pull wonder out of the thin air
And arrange the world so that I may see
And interpret on my terms
While the wind gently suggests a direction
And time taps his wrist
In late-afternoon and it's time to dive
Into a purple resolver, fragrant and full
In readiness to pour down a deluge of suffering
And hope, burying the mass
And thickening the air
Black spirits remake this radial plane
And somewhere
Someone
Sheds their meek tears
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