The morning dew was frosty
When my friend found signs of blight.
The merest spot of blackened stalk
Betrayed the health on boxes raised
To keep the varmints out. Away
and fenced to make the future talk.
Such light sometimes is furtive,
Creeping in past smothered skies.
It takes a cautious, careful eye
To see a pain. To feel a cry;
what’s more, a flesh wound
rarely means we’re doomed
before we die.
The damaged tissue has no line
of life. No psychic drinks the tea.
Some tarot cards tell dirty lies
In cryptic chants of reckoning.
Which is to say a surgery
Is better than a broken date.
Hello to long goodbyes.