In ten four time I listen to you and

Clear out the road;

And if it was spring grass or summer sand

We would corrode

The fated temper we both share, our souls

Both sensitive

To the dents and imperfections that flow

From origin’s sieve.

Misunderstood by the mechanics of

Simpler living,

Wrenched with coiled hearts and the unsorted love

Of nature’s giving.

I wish at times you were a dumber man

And dull to thorns

But you, like me, are cursed to wear this crown

With filed horns.

Steady on, friend. Trying times are what can

Cast a forlorn

Shadow across your small, strong hope and drown

The airs we mourn

These airs of light can grow and seem to halve

Your kind mother

But remember that time is all we have,

And each other.