Not Tonight the Morning

And we see so many things writhing in the sky

Of the deluded shoe that breaks its own lace

The sky of the pony kicking clumps of celestial

Daffodils the sky of your voice and how it sounds

When you talk to someone else but you think of me

Kicking stones barefoot beneath the sky that wiped

Its forehead on the rag of my youth the sky that

Yodeled dirt roads and pig trails the sky that sighed

Nights after days and days after nights like the tired

Look sometimes you walk around wearing when

You see the sky that holds something for our own

Good and it could be our bodies are sore with these

Moments loosed from desire under the sky dancing

Dancing to the very end of silence