to the old moon
follows a line of wild hickories
and neon pizza lights.
A roadside cascade of orange tomatoes
splits its sides laughing
at chip paint billboards
promising a future home.
Shaded bricks bounce the bop
of a three piece horn section
like a juggler's ball
in the hand of a one armed dancer.
Everything in the sky
has wings and a song, listening
is forever. If the Son is behind your gathering cloud,
expect a rainbow.