Shower of mayflies
Riddle of blue morning
Snow rise in summer

Hobble, cripple.
Cling to your mother.

Others not of your
family take flight in
leaps of song, a mythic
pantheism’s saints, gowned in
diaphanous bacchanalia.

Your clenched lips
condemn a questing mind..
Your judgment of conviction
is drawn by bony joints
on yellowed parchment.
Your language of roots and constriction
scolds eager children, prisoners now
to frown fraught discipline of
stretched vein and tendon.

Eat bitterness alone.
Leave euphoria to the new fliers.

A hatch of sunburst mayflies
cry riot in profusion.