My two horse town.
My main street.
My high noon.
Telephone trees trumpeting my arrival.
My lady in waiting, sideview folded in
curtsy.
Bow.
Play her song,
keys winking in sunlight,
like beads on a roller
turned to tines of metal touching.
Waxing crescent
in the clear blue eyes.
Jealous Mars
waiting for a spotlight dance that falls on the cutting floor
crossing blacktop to hold the afternoon in the mouth
close enough
to feel her heart beat against
the red wind chimes of my flesh.
Blow wind autumn hussing at spring.
Turn my chin up stiff and wrecked and mighty
to lock eyes with his body, before I do.
