Spinning like the wheel Painted on the temple Does the wheel turn slowly Or is it me that moves? I can count the hours And I can name the prophets Kept like silver spoons Struck like wooden matches Should I call it sleep or divine…

Everyone is writing songs inside their heads Waking up from sleeping in their unmade beds I cleared out space in springtime to make room for the fall I wrote you words of kindness, but I won’t speak them at all The kudzu choked the hillside…