to drop into the lap of love
dance within the secret life of flowers
like angels on the head of a pin
and to have within your grasp a mastery of life
(we give concern to the fashion of ephemeral troubles)
have you not heard? what is the Good News?
the best story wins
and the pieces do fit together
we cut no corners
it’s made to crumble at the edges
what tune is it in the susurrus atmosphere of the Movie?
as i waltz with a burning one
i know, for one, luck is no beggar
i to have fashioned my own very hands
to have been meant to dip in the gravity of it all
my card dropped in her lap
and the story brushes aside all anxious first maneuvers
the best story wins