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In the failing light of the afternoon |
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Lucy in the shade of the dogwood blooms |
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Yesterday the solace of a poison fish |
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Tomorrow I'll be kissing on her blood red lips |
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No one is the savior they would like to be |
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The lovesong of the buzzard in the dogwood tree |
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With a train of horses laughing through the traffic line |
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And the cradle's unimaginative sense of time |
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Springtime and the promise of an open fist |
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A tattoo of a flower on a broken wrist |
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Lucy tells me jokingly to wipe her brow |
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With a pocket map to heaven and the sun goes down |
