April is Poetry Month # 2

verses composed outside Nineveh under a fig tree

wither the tree,

the stubborn root choking the heart.

blister us with the noonday sun we

will not yield we will not go into the city.

we will not god, we will not the promise of angels.

we teeter on the head of the pin–

the windmill arms,

the whoa! whoa! whoa!

the long way down.