In a scene from better times
Your traitor hangs up right there next to mine
The afternoon shakes down the trees
Like they owed it money –hey buddy, please:
Get in line—
Their promise of green fruit is gone
It's bruised out there on the lawn;
He who cannot be seduced cannot be saved…
I hang ready to be swayed
Our hunger to be new begins
But slips the yoke like it was a second skin;
It's walking back the shadow moon
As if on a string
A listing black balloon—
That turns its face and mounts the wall
To show a slower way to fall;
Oh, you hold me by a thread and fall away…
I stand hungry to be swayed
I'm torn to think this storm will rise
Already it's tattered my sail and thin disguise
I ‘ve bent my song like broken words
Could call to me your whirling
Skittish birds—
I write to you, Dear stranger mine…
But stranger still, the hand of time
Has laid its ragged coat across our way…
I lie ready to be swayed
