Oh, love, and love, and love

lone things tremble when

the others turn away.

They stretch and stretch and stretch

while God makes them wretch and wrench

and twist and injure

the only bit that lives within them.

Saying healings coming,

but the sun hasn’t risen on the east in years.

Hasn’t risen on the west,

but wind comes chilling the wet and weary

And the east wind, havoc in its hand, comes with the scent of dead men

On its breath.

Saying healings coming

Coming

On its way

Well when?

And then, and then, and then

The earth in constant night and deep winter

With the birds frozen to the lines, even

Currents stilled,

Is turning slowly as the sun dims and dims

On striving men that

Only meant to draw it close.

Tender shoots that die before the snow,

Young apples never ripened,

Old men stalwart with their fires

Old cars, new cars, poison in the rafters

On the bridge, the Golden Gate, the desolate

Are frozen to the windows

And the skyscrapers reach up still

braced against the acid rain

but all that comes is snow.