mornings rise thick
from a sorcerer's brew
and, drive as you might, you never
reach the gauze-bandaged beyond,
never discover who it might be
dressing forsythia bare
as of yesterday

the unknown shaman unfurls
your limbs from their wrap
against the chill, telescopes bones,
pops winter�s breath from your joints
until all you can do

is give that man the dance!


�2005 by PJ Nights