During Strawberry Season
There is no reason
To feel other
Than the smother
Of pain and rain
Going down by train
Down into a mountain
Feeding the lowest part
Creating a fountain
With gleaming heart
This evening it is Strawberry Season
And we sit ringed by dark filled trees
Upon a mountain
We are the fountain
That nobody else sees
The wine binds with the sunlight
As the water fuses with my dress
No crying in that loving night
As the good fuses with the rest
As our chairs hold us up
To not sit on the ground
I might hear the air crashing sound
Of winds far, spared and unwound
Flower, painting rainbow sod
Bound by night, killed by a god
I let my sorrows drown