One day he will sing his song.
And the words will drip from his lips,
Ripened with strength.
Strong plants will grow from the seeds
His aging hands are sowing.
He will hold your broken hand
In his mouth like a wolf,
Then tell you what you write is admirable.
He will spin a mountain out of the dust
Your bones turned into.
Then tell you what you are made of is intense.
And when an oak tree will stand proudly
While flaunting its branches,
He will be its long roots, sinking into the earth.
He will slither to his home deep within the ground
While growing far more
Than the oak tree.
And when he will sit on his throne inside the earth,
One lingering fox will wonder
What’s saving the tree from wilting.
Just like an unruly mob wonders
How a poet can hold their feet captive
While writing from a cave.