all the very holy snowflakes

discovered by horn-blowing fools

such as lovers

such as we,

melt back into juicy events of toasted rivers

flowing through those pastoral legends

of bittersweet august Sabbath Days

and when the reading fades away,

and all that remains

is that certain loneliness

separating God from its demented bards,

the days will pass without burden

red-gold October leaves in the sunlight,

as we will at last breathe freely

waving to the children

running alongside the trains

back to Jordan

11/17/69