Lovesong Of The Buzzard
In the failing light of the afternoonLucy in the shade of the dogwood bloomsYesterday the solace of a poison fishTomorrow I'll be kissing on her blood red lips
No one is the savior they would like to beThe lovesong of the buzzard in the dogwood treeWith a train of horses laughing through the traffic lineAnd the cradle's unimaginative sense of time
Springtime and the promise of an open fistA tattoo of a flower on a broken wristLucy tells me jokingly to wipe her browWith a pocket map to heaven and the sun goes down