A new morning is opening in my window.
A September wind is speaking in its trees
Before customary rain of the elephant-god
Who will drown in the pond later in shouts.
The poet asks to please, please let go of him
Of the stranglehold of time on his innards
A rumble at four is hardly a photo-caption
While some of our pictures do need a caption.
Of course pictures are not made for captions.
I live in the deep bowels where time rules
My bearded rebellion gets calmly put down
While body refuses to succumb to the wind
As the tree there does in its body in the sky.