Photograph by Margo Berdeshevsky copyright © 2015

STOPPED FOR HOURS —

White coals on the tongue.
Gallop of the broken-legged-

Justice-horse
Unbound from flesh.

Yes, bringing dirt.
Yes, singing.

Yes, crows in their cold trees.
Stilled only by the breaking

Winter bell.   Hissing for respite
Again.  Again.  Again.

Last week’s papers are
Shrouds to wrap old fish.

Lady justice
Splayed.

If you’ve watched, count the days.
If she stands

Count her shame.
If you’ve seen the crumbling

Mountain, if you’ve watched
While she rends her clothes, keening—

Soft pulp, wound in wires of the lies we
Know. While the phoenix-wings
Open — hands — up.

In the stilled hour
When each is too many

We know the voice
Starving—to fight.

The dirt dawn news with its good new scythe.

                                                                       Margo Berdeshevsky/ 2015