The curve of a bush or a woman in bloom is reflected in my hands

They make mirrors of each other in-out-out-in brushing strands

Of leaves or time across the universe and who waits at the city on the edge of forever

But a Poet and a Dance brushing off Fate and Chance whose hoofbeats echo just past what’s clever

Bells jangling making camp with rough hands and it’s a good night for the fire to kick it

Cotton-cloth weather stars out smoke and leather they need nothing but love and a thicket