Land sliding across streets and forested mazes
blazed in sunsets
your eyes are the lingering blue of
a fading winter
and your laugh is the witches calling on march
like revenge
these nights are not long enough for us
but we don't need them anymore, as we question place and place
rings in the future to fill with blackout moments and rampages
falls to chase
memories and pasts to ignore, but we hold on to anyway.
the cut of your fingers and the shape of your hand
is all tall grass needs to know love
while solitude, broken sunlight, and I festoon
the forest
orchestrating the symphony with every broken
foot fall on the underbrush of decaying leaves
that rouses the spastic accent notes of scattering creators
land bound and not
as they grace your hand and the wind raises the theme
as only oboes can
