What We Are Allowed

Hay and a clean stall

And ivy on a garden wall

And a sign saying sold

And no coat for the bad cold.

I believe in you.

Do you believe in me?

What do you want to do?

Are we leaving the city?

On the black road,

Through the gold fields

While the fields are plowed

Towards what we are allowed.

The bridle bends in idle hands

And slows your canter to a trot.

We mean to stop in increments,

But can’t commit. We post and sit in impotence.

The harder the hit, the deeper the dent.

We seek out fame, we seek a name

In our credentials, paved in glass,

Trying to master incidentals.

Bleach a collar, leech a dollar

From our cents.

The longer you live, the higher the rent

Beneath a pale sky,

Beside the old barn,

Below the white cloud

Is all we are allowed.

Here, the light will seep,

And the scythe will reap,

And spirit will rend

In counting toward the end.

In december of that year,

The word came down that she was here.

The days were shorter,

I was sure if she came round,

I’d hold my ground.

I can do what they alluded to,

A change that came to pass.

Spring did range, weeping grass

And sleepless broke

Itself upon my winter glass.

And I could barely breathe for seeing

All the splintered light that leaked.

A fish is fleeting, launched in flight

But starched in light,

Bright and bleeding, bleach the night

With dawn deleting in that high sun

After our good run,

When the spirit bends

Beneath knowing it must end.

And I did all I want here,

To draw my gaunt spirit to bow

Beneath what I am allowed,

Beneath what I am allowed.