Beneath the bending leaves
of peonies and righteous branches
of the evergreen
the coon sleeps
Where once I found a fish
who had fallen from the sky
as if his faith in wings
had failed
Golden tail with rings
like prison stripes, a mask
like Clayton Moore, he is
a label
A final dream
grins of daring days of good
or evil, or maybe
only life
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology