Lucy in the shade of the dogwood blooms

Yesterday the solace of a poison fish

Tomorrow I'll be kissing on her blood red lips



No one is the savior they would like to be

The lovesong of the buzzard in the dogwood tree

With a train of horses laughing through the traffic line

And the cradle's unimaginative sense of time



Springtime and the promise of an open fist

A tattoo of a flower on a broken wrist

Lucy tells me jokingly to wipe her brow

With a pocket map to heaven and the sun goes down