I lay so long on the open lawn
I gathered dew in my fist
Peppered by music in my ears
A solemn vow to be kissed.
The trees above they shed their leaves
falling about my mouth
The birds were crying against the clouds
long on their journey South.
The few begin the hard won Road
snatched from undergrowth,
the use of machetes tore at green
in silence they cut with stealth.
No machine out here
Upon the verge, of latent falling wings
the chainmail mist hung with the urge
to sample a knight’s last fling.