Second Hour

I move my brush toward the eastern field

and the cows stop moving their tails

splashed in light brown hues, worm

and eagle earn gratification

in the nimble yawn of nostalgia

timely pendulum scimitar

tender sparrow tackles two seeds

in his beak and retreats to his brother

in the bushes one teardrop in an

irksome afternoon when chewing

a stick of gum embalms you

with such pleasure you can’t

think yourself more lucky

as you breathe fresh air rising

off the seashore dusk always

recurring as a faithful friend after

a tough day’s work which starts

the game of cynical Hades

evangelizing His fearsome enigma

the dark wind blows

as from the future and undresses

a decaying reality concocted by

hands of the few though the rose

traverses passing the eyes of the girl

who reflects at the redness of her lips

and shrugs her shoulders in loneliness

when the path of enmity grasps

thin air and ponders the question

while headmaster cinches the noose

around an apostate’s muscled neck

without concern for mercy

carving emblems and insignia

inked with blood crying out: who cares?