Head of tale operations
watched the naive sprout pump fuel
from the tale fuel pool below
– at least our sprouts express eagerness,
unlike what the breezes bring
through trees about sprouts in distant
vistas and on more foreign shores,
sprouts that think the universe owes them
automatic sway power. Not this one.
This one believed. Coughed because a sniffle
had descended and made this head’s bells peal
and coughing to conceal the sniffle,
turned towards the worn wooden mountain
cabin’s door. Maybe a glimmer
of hope yet ached for one more dance.