when he comes
will you wait for

when you fight
(as we know you will)
will you tell him

Not yet, not without

unknown days of southern
rain with baseball bits of
frozen sky-melt, and the
prairies are sprung with
spiral crème waves of

that beat ceaselessly
against the oddly un
dulating sky

You will always be
young, the old woman
said when i was.
So says The Sun.  And
that is both your blessing
and your curse.

cowboys have driven the
wild-eyed bulls
(some big as a car)
to pasture this side.  at
sunset, their neon green
ear-tags top the yucca sea and
smiling i think of you
smiling as you read this.

but you are no tyrant and
this is not Diabolique
we love not each other
we love only
and you love neither of
enough to wait

so when he comes,
with him, darling

go with him

we will be here
(both of us)
when you get



©s rogers 051212

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