bends in heat

join in the slippery grin
kill a few pauses with a gentle weave
to sort out the clauses in the folding leaves
dripping under causes that cause her to weep
over pools of dormentaries with
dripping holes in the roof
any hunt for mystery
a part of the dance is the sword
it never can cut but it adds
danger to the magic
equation providing pulses of danger
to remind us to slow down
not to take the wheel into our hands
like any old murderer can

Faint distance behind the dust
the roads and all they take
from us.