There in the meadow stands

The undertaker who with his silver milk pail,

Pours down dreams through the roof.

Filling the eyes and lungs,

Of wild hearted men.

Out beyond the icicle shores sat

A hopeless autumn queen who with

Her rhymes of crimson and glass,

Cut the throats of springtime lovers' dance.

Painting the seasons 'til winter's stony end.

Along the rails of God's grizzly wilderness

Rides a tattered conductor who from his velvet pocket,

Beat the distant and ancient pulse of gold.

With every whistling sigh feels the smoky warmth,

Of a kiss far from home.

And I, with my brass looker, kneel beneath

A night-lit violet galaxy

Who with Its pearl teeth and rage,

Roars an arrogant sacrifice of shrouded ghostly fire.

Sealing eternity within a folded silk smile.

I mold with all the colors, a face,

And see the dimensions as one.