Let Her Beckon

Let her beckon until her hands come down I would not huddle there again Too green with mold her concrete gown Too easy to come, my pain Too nervous listening footsteps near Or the stopping car Or the door that will no jar Or the sudden cataract of tear Justice does not serve well those who feel Upon the heart the crunch of human heel Liberty is a statue here, dead of all compassion The butt of my derision. Let her tease my hunger with her tongue Although below her on the rung Her dress unfluttered in the wind, dies Beyond excitement in the dusty eyes. Let me yearn instead on my tropic shore To love, to laugh, to glee forever. She shall Beckon me, my eyes are closed to the magical.