The Devil's Fiddle

Signs that might be seen as omens send me on my way the daylight waning for today and luck still virgin on display flying close to danger’s coven The wind blows fortune’s empty cast as trackless dreams setout dispelling hope and bringing doubt without a name to even tout caught within tomorrows fast I see each warning clearly now they speak much like a friend whose words as tokens try to bend rushing blindly toward the end captured voices left to bow Those signs that led me all point down the road is changing fast no clear distinction first from last my future damned to be my past — the devils fiddle calling loud (Saint David’s Pennsylvania: February, 2024)