Leaving the City

Hay and a clean stall,
And ivy on a garden wall,
And a sign saying sold,
And no coat for the bad cold
I believe in you,
Do you believe in me?
What do you want to do,
Are we leaving the city?
On the black road,
Through the gold fields
While the fields are plowed
Towards what we are allowed.
The bridle bends in idle hands
And slows your canter to a trot.
We mean to stop in increments,
but can’t commit; we post and sit in impotence.
The harder the hit, the deeper the dent.
We seek our name, we seek out fame
In our credentials, paved in glass,
Trying to master incidentals
Bleach a collar, leech a dollar
from our cents.
The longer you live, the higher the rent
Beneath a pale sky,
Beside the red barn,
Below the white clouds
Is all we are allowed.
Here the light will seep,
And the scythe will reap,
And spirit will rend
In counting toward the end.
In December of that year
The word came down that she was here
The days were shorter,
I was sure if she came round
I’d hold my ground
I can do what they alluded to,
A change that came to pass,
And spring did range, weeping grass
And sleepless wrote herself upon my winter glass
And I could barely breathe for seeing
All the splintered light that leaked,
A fish is fleeting,
Launched in flight
But starched in light,
Brightly bleeding, bleach the night
With dawn deleting in that high sun
After our good run
When the spirit bends
Beneath knowing it must end
And that is all I want here
To draw my gaunt spirit to bow
Beneath what I am allowed,
Beneath what I am allowed