Swerve slow, sweet Iscariot,
The next bend will betray
Succor sour, but no release
From mind's so cruel replay.

The way a shiny red balloon floats pregnant
Over a used car lot...
Or a pile of white sand and crumbling tar
Lays curled like a calico cat....
The way the seagull so far from sea
Dips close in recognition...
Or a dying oak tree in the breeze can seem
Like a child at play...
No, you weren't there,
But sometimes I swear,
You've seen it too.

Sing low, sweet seraphim,
Of foolish things I regret
Knowing that I only suffer
For the foolish thing not done yet.