Moods

 

                         Angels weep for me on certain days

                         Women walk in twos and threes

                         on jaded streets at noon

                         pot bellied men trail behind

                         eyes opaquely luminescent

 

                         These are days  the air is still

                         animals vanish from the earth

                         things that grow wither in the sun

                         carrion eaters circle the heavens

                         wings motionless in a stately pavane

 

                         The wind shifts on other days

                         a breeze quickens the spirit

                         animals return to scent upstream

                         vegetation emerges in budlike form

                         birds sing of their ancient past

 

                         And the angels turn from me

                         within a cloud

                         in a whirlwind of dust

 

 

 

                                                      Jack Mashman

                                                      Rev. 1995