The Dresden Hour

Oxhide looms in Dresden’s hour

The lazy lips hover above

The unrequited love of the copper touch

Exits the drain, the mystery of the dove

The electric of the inner ear

Leaves the girl of cinder afeared

Undaunted and wrong, the trumpet sound

On the wind falsifies the stone

The quartz emblem of days gone wrong

Returning to the gaze I left simmering o’er the flame

I wrenched the flute back from the grave

The added spice, the flavored malaise

The wolf’s tooth stands afire

The grave whistles, the sky’s plume

Wavers in the autumn breeze,

A shudder grips the weakness

Of morals holding fast to Sunday