Hearing the story of where I'm traveling to

A cave within a canyon I've never seen

After all of the beings walk or fly away

I find another religion that doesn't quite fit

I've been waiting to see what won't happen

Just thinking of it does not work anymore

The lover in the dream is a pickpocket

A mountain lion drawing the violet dusk

Into those relentless mountain lion lungs

Gives all of it back after a moment or two

Dancing with an animal requires disconnect

How the other half thrives without dream

Like a secret weapon forever misplaced

The uncounted small livelihoods I ignore

Like the death that's missing a functional lid

Yet depends on it like weather, like weeds

Like a deer skull topping a Christmas tree

Being wrong, the graves too high to mow

The season's prettiness always self-inflicted