Feathers of frost in the swale at daybreak
and unease among the people
rising from nightmares
at the end of an era.
Goodbye poets, goodbye painters,
the world once made more sense,
the people thought well of each other,
and I loved you.
We spread a blanket in the field
to watch the cross-hatched sky,
bees chanted in the goldenrod above us,
goodbye music makers.
Eras end, eros flows,
I have your breathing close and easy
in the days before panic.
Icewings to smoke at the touch of the sun.
