Moods Poem by Jack Mashman

Angels weep for me on certain days
Women walk in twos and threes
on jaded streets at noon
pot bellied men trail behind
eyes opaquely luminescent

These are days the air is still
animals vanish from the earth
things that grow wither in the sun
carrion eaters circle the heavens
wings motionless in a stately pavane

The wind shifts on other days
a breeze quickens the spirit
animals return to scent upstream
vegetation emerges in budlike form
birds sing of their ancient past

And the angels turn from me
within a cloud
in a whirlwind of dust


Rev.1995