Stepping Stones Gather Moss

She dances in the red dust devilling
Fans the embers’ moonward spiral
And on her charmed ankles glimmer
The swords of dead tomorrows
The flags of anarchists
And the hopes of lonely children

She dances at the blue ice gathering
Kicks the deck-chair habit
And at her chained waist gleam
The knives of sleeping winter
The banners of idealists
And the fears of gun

She dances on the velvet light flickering
Dusts the moon with ember spirals
And in her eyes green glisten
The pinwheel stars' lost light
The rags of heathen prophets
And the dreams of aging poets

July 2009

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