Last on the withering post – the nail
that held the droppings –
veils of rain and such things
that waltz as silk and linen
wood-pinned to wire and such –
things that carry load like bridges.
We hang as moss from bridges
pinned and mired as such –
gravity defiled in veils of dropping –
folds of waltz and linens.
Green the languors, grey the rust,
yellow the haunts of rain,
hung from wire, nailed with lust,
we hang from moss like midges.