My kid sister muse sings,
Everyone can take this personally,
including intemperate me.

A tree in the wind. A music to lips.
How is it lit?
Tall with liquid arms; tongued for a ride,
another hit and run.

They’re plants from one Homeric deity that lets us in.
That’s what led to church shifting

toward showdowns at the riverbed,
beauties of variable weights, Jesus, everyone to lead us on..