the guy that did my taxes is dying
passed the fee to the subsequent
left me here to do it alone
where it is good to be alive
when not reminded of taxes or death
the river runs so sweetly in the sun
simple falls and little white water
swaying weeds in gentle breeze
butterflies for staring eyes
catches me downing darkened wells
every country falls apart
never take demise to heart
follow the floating ballerina
dancing across the stage
like wing tips of egrets that flap away
fragile branches bend
under a tiny bird's weight
wind-up Jack for popping the weasel
before it is too late
written in the fifth estate
February 28, 2017
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