Willows bend & swipelike horse’s tails sky bellows thunder: turning of the yearsummer swelter morphs into cool morning. Each nightthe planets burn, dead worlds that shineso bright from distant past as if cradled in suspension. You ask for words,I have none: just a burstingof my heart as corn winds highfruit ripens on the limb a whinny at the gate,life unfurls each dawn febrile in its mystery.