Harvey S. Mozolak
the royal array
of ancient Roman wrath
drafted armed and sent
with the battle plans
of evil
to cloak amid nature’s spring return
to life
a pool of purplespilled beneath the winter tree
like a shadow awaiting
its noonday climb
and embrace of death’s eclipse
the folds and furrows
drape the color of grape
and deep arterial flow
will seep up the stem
the sap of sin
to cover the curse and laughter
of Light from Light’s stark nakedness
dim terse Tuesday
tense with change
in its waiting
shriveled cloth for tears
what shall I dress like
in this weak weather?
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