the box came around mid morning
damn near broke down the door
with his tiny young hands
hill face rock tumbling
catchweed and moss creeping
frozen and crumbling waste
he opens his frigid mouth
music all wriggling out
calliope notes from the days as a child
gone by
and a child goes by
his fist blooming flowers
his ragtag trumpeteer army devours
the silence of loss
the wren, albatross
the feather of innocence
lost in your wheezing wind
open your little mouth
let your teeth tumble out
let loose your handfuls of grain
let the christmas band play
you know the song
so when you set your table
line your chair with daisies
to let them know you're waiting
patiently, patiently
the coracle, the caravel
cast your wintry curses to the bristling air
and when the box comes round
you'll still pluck that hateful feather
you'll line your arms with daisies
like you've ships to sail
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