all the very holy snowflakes

discovered by horn-blowing fools

such as lovers

such as we,

melt back into juicy memories 

of toasted rivers flowing through 

pastoral legends of

bittersweet august Sabbath Days

and when these reflections fade,

and all that remains

is that unique loneliness

separating God from its demented bards:

days will pass on without burden

and red-gold October leaves will bloom in the sunlight,

as we will at last breathe freely

waving to the children

running alongside the trains

rambling back to Jordan

11/17/69