under the cloud

 

under the cloud each silent seeker waits
to hear just how the garden must be made
not only in such matters of old trade
are there to be discussions and debates
enough is given us to fill our plates
and there's no need for fancy or parade
not one of us would want to be afraid
of what plain urgency ever dictates
there is a time for all of us to shout
our anger to the skies and then to fall
upon our swords in passion at the last
moment before the wolves can first step out
that long second as shadows first grow tall
and then the action just becomes too fast

blue hummingbird

no one could hope in this dark place to think
that any would survive to speak or sing
there are no easy hopes on which to cling

but all of us have reached some horrid brink
and wondered at the weakness of the string
no one could hope in this dark place to think

of just how easy it would be to drink
that tempting goblet or just take the fling
and jump into the broad space without wing
no one would hope in this dark place to think