In the failing light of the afternoon Lucy in the
shade of the dogwood blooms Yesterday the solace
of a poison fish Tomorrow I'll be kissing on her blood red lips


No one is the saviour they would like to be The
lovesong of the buzzard in the dogwood tree With a

train of horses laughing through the traffic line
And the cradle's unimaginative sense of time


Springtime and the promise of an open fist A
tattoo of a flower on a broken wrist Lucy tells me
jokingly to wipe her brow With a pocket map to

heaven and the sun goes down