Road

On a road
lined with trees
birds hang nests
clouds furrow the sky
their great white fingers
clawing away at dawn
and I am making
a nest of my own
in your arms
hanging from fingers
edged damp with sweat
daubing the world's wounds
that run like tears
like blood
boiling down
to a black syrup
a pool of tar
gathering at my feet.

© PW