Like a dream, to wince upon waking
what is a day in and out if not a year for fear?
a decade's dust settled and encrusted
trusted by kin and beloved
erodes by fire on fire
then spits in its sleep of ash

the hump heaves in pregnancy
draws in and blows goodbye kisses
a grey exterior both defends and offends
never seeming gleaming or serene
just grey in and grey out
somewhere in a middle
frothing like chimney soap

beneath begets a child of course
a source forgotten; a lute
upon which we learned what we hadn't yet
a tune from our fathers and sons
our authentic swing
a carrier of the give and receive
a home instilled

and patience brings us a rope
the dirt on the grade is loose like crumbs
yet the horizon has a buoyancy
and gazes nearer, crescenting the backdrop
in whiteness, lifting with look
presenting a crook
who's made to amend

and here stands a cactus without spines
weathered by wind but no more than time
carves out the world with inanimateness
the planted duress toward stress' molest

a quarter of a century to spring