Once dressed in green, no hopes
fly south; instead they burn
their orange prayer flags.
*
The mallet and the string,
the shawm and the oboe. The single
reed that stirs when the water stirs.
*
And the cornets of brass, bright
relatives to the sickle: its rusted
bronze curve leaning against the wall.
[LAG-signature date=”10 14 2013″ url=”http://morningporch.com/2013/10/159123495/”]