the water, full of holes, murmurs in thirsty sprays
as if autumn still scanned a name forgotten in frost
hardship’s stepbrothers scarred willows climb the hill
turn over cloud clusters and the windrows of hell
and at the foot of the hill the well may or may not still wait
only the redhead’s aching fingers draw the iron closer
only the dulled convulsion of frost pulls the trigger
and illuminates the road with tracer bullets
strangers all your sellers of your black souls
spring is late and autumn still rages in the mountain spring
aching sweet life of flood waters
freezes in the veins of my scarred adopted brothers
a living flow a hoary faith – remains