dust fall swiftly
raindrops run laughing
the cheering multitude exults
fly, fly on wings of the evening
tumbling in the tall green sedge
snicker in the old man’s ale
while bricks of red glow darkly in the night
the night of the banshee’s breath
who will go up
to the rocks of the albatross
hot blasts parch the eye exposed
nostrils crack and bleed
the wearisome draft of thirst aplenty
how then shall we know
the king searches depths
and wide open spaces throw open their doors

Dennis McClendon, August 1999

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