yielding at gates
crossing would be the end-
watching from the window
chariots and kids screaming with bows and bows
gods feeding horses
thunder storms at the tips of fingers
the heat of the furnace lingers:
crossing would be the end-
pleasure on a patterned plate
love on patterned sheets
sleets of snow below my feet
and now i am yielded at the gates-
watching kids play with bows and bows
and i see the end in bright lights
a silver key in my left and the lock in my right
but
i don’t belong
banana loaf as tribute
might as well be mud pie
for tribute to a god
