the divine strike

i still remember that blossoming face
with its wide baby eyes
staring straight through the skull
at my blurring auburn hour
its burnt out streets
that autumn when i fall
amongst the leaves a lady’s spreading legs
in front of coldness of a local post
and man – stagnated, caught, surprised, -
removes his watch to figure out which time
the fire’s started the flame has shot
to shed those lines
inside the lava’s bible

and she shall wait in strike
for the letter in his envelope