Hay and a clean stall
And ivy on a garden wall
And a sign saying sold
And no coat for the bad cold
I believe in you.
Do you believe in me?
What do you want to do?
Are we leaving the city?
On the black road
Through the gold fields
While the fields are plowed
Towards what we are allowed
The bridle bends in idle hands
And slows your canter to a trot
But can’t commit. We post and sit in impotence.
The harder the hit, the deeper the dent.
We seek out fame, we seek a name
In our credentials, paved in glass
Trying to master incidentals
Bleach a collar, leech a dollar
From our cents
The longer you live, the higher the rent
Beneath a pale sky
Beside the old barn
Below the white cloud
Is all we are allowed
Here, the light will seep
And the scythe will reap
And spirit will rend
In counting toward the end
In december of that year
The word came down that she was here
The days were shorter
I was sure if she came round
I’d hold my ground.
I can do what they alluded to
A change that came to pass
Spring did range, weeping grass
And sleepless broke
Itself upon my winter glass.
And I could barely breathe for seeing
All the splintered light that leaked
A fish is fleeting, launched in flight
But starched in light
Bright and bleeding, bleach the night
With dawn deleting in that high sun
After our good run
When the spirit bends
Beneath knowing it must end
And I did all I want here
To draw my gaunt spirit to bow
Beneath what I am allowed
Beneath what I am allowed
