Heaven and the Scythe

hand carved the heart that breathes

southbound to habits pure as ink is blood;

her tall rain hanging heavy on a sigh.

vows made the heaving concrete to a push;

bells ring subordination to the climbing roots of May

as knocks the floating tantrum standing still;

as bland as gold is easy on the eye,

time stands as still as snows the hanging lime

too white the suffocation of it's fall

from treasure to the eggplant in a mile;

where now stands time this days' nocturnal flight?

Saturn's glow no longer lights his arrows to the heart;

watch the carousel of curious intent

circle prey while sleeping in a still;

white hare and hungry hound

pounding walls as delicate as thunder

too far away from the gossip and the grass,

water-foul and the un-masked kiss-and-tell;

soon home the ravaged face

snail-paced this walking wound of reminisce;

to fire and the water and bedamned

the slamming doors of midnight in rush

the rushing blood through muscle and the phlegm

to where? who knows, but heaven and the scythe;