Laying down his bones
in the back alley
of the dispossessed
the lonely man shivers
in the streetlight
Ambushing archers,
waiting in the wood,
keep a keen eye
far into the distance
for the enemies
of love
She picks up his bones
breathes flesh from her stone,
but then walks away,
stinging his skin
with a slap to awake him
Leaving his bones, again ...
Le Heusero died again,
and he lingers here,
beneath this tree,
as the corridor waits
to hear the song
of the beautiful woman
whose legend is told
from hill to hill,
mountain to mountain,
sea to misty sea.
