Saturday, July 15, 2017

When trouble comes

Listening to a story
of muffled drums
while the cedars
collect little birds
I wait for friction’s spark.

Abandoned in winter when
every night is a blues song
I tried to scream but
the moon puts her hand
over my mouth.

I know that when
trouble comes
that I can find solace
in the engineering
of cobwebs
that empty bullets
no longer know
how to kill
that when spring comes
with songbirds and
I can see the stars
I will accept
just a pinch of
the world again.

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