South of the hill there was still no sign
As to why they stole the joy and won’t
replace the world’s missing sticks
once kept alongside pocket watch
Inside of you.
By now Scratched by hawks of the moor
settling in the branches of lime filled
streets with arching light reminiscent
of that town once cobbled and flooded
There’s a cast deity east of the shore
whom you may strike asterisk with
Who eats shadows in exchange for
their future trials of life.
With a look that’s reminiscent of
persuasion short of a triad or three
For a birds place at the table
clothed In nuebuck suede no thank you.