January, The Next Morn

Time aligned on the other side of the sun 
My dawn hadn’t risen 
Your sign not yet come 
My dawn but true dusk 
As fickle as a flicker 
My dawn untrue lust 
A lover’s blood runs thicker 

I sew sweaters of spider webs 
Adorning each the perennial sage 
Recalled to life by hum of daze 
After dormant a return 
Through the years I’ve learned 

There’s a rhythm to 
The river of all bodies 
Bodies of rose 
Rose of God 
He left it to me 
To let the leaves burn 
To let the willows yearn 

Burnt August flew high 
Ja nuary, the next morn 
He must have left traces 
As the air still gets warm 
And the earth still repaints 
It’s leaves to forewarn 
Of the incoming winter 
His temple forlorn 

I intend to imortalize 
A soul who’s gone floating 
Yet never dies 
Only to perch atop the highest pine 
Only to say you see all 
I cannot see you 

I could spot your ragged mask 
From the depths of the river 
The river a basin 
For the faces laying in her 

There’s genius in that old mask 
I hope it won’t fade 
As quickly as you’d like to claim