In the failing light of the afternoon
Lucy in the shade of the dogwood blooms
Yesterday, the solace of a poison fish
Tomorrow, I'll be kissing on her blood-red lips
And no one is the savior they would like to be
The love song of the buzzard in the dogwood tree
With a train of horses laughing through the traffic line
And the cradle's unimaginative sense of time
Springtime and the promise of an open fist
A tattoo of a flower on a broken wrist
Lucy tells me jokingly to wipe her brow
With a pocket map to heaven and the sun goes down
