Dali

The queen she rides

Her horses to a new day

The wheels they are pulled

Old and grey

Vicious onslaught

No time to stop and ask where she’s going

or why

She wouldn’t be able to say anyway

The juggler he sweats

Knives in the air

In the seconds before they fall

Catch his despair.

It is tattooed in his eyes

Like a childhood scar

It is longer than this minute,

Deeper than this hour.

the old crone

in the moon she knows

she has watched this show unfold

before

like the wise hills and the sage grass

in silence she mourns

the passing of this misspent hour