And she thought she heard love
Whispered on the summer tongues of lilly-pad foxes
With padded feet sleek and wet with the danger of their safety--
But lies do sound so sweet so smooth like milk like honey,
Only Mount Saint Helens erupts with a viscous
Pyroclastic flow that looks so sweet so smooth so beautiful this
Harvest-mooned orange that calls with harmonies she thought that she could sing;
And the Icelanders they walk on lava like the silver Gods we make
Alone like the ice that burns on a planet
A galaxy away--
Yes, she thought she heard love
Whispered on the burning tongues of green pine-cone foxes,
But silver Gods have neon tongues
And there is folly well as beauty in those creatures we call
Young
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