Harvey's Tailor Pockets a Note

I can scare more crows

than any corduroy coat

on a garden pole.

It ain’t my wild eyes,

birds just know

I mean business.

I rub my nickels,

plot my course, tear a page

from every book

I come across.

Your angel hangs above me

like an October leaf

waiting to change


So measure the night

in blankets, sing to the sea set,

absorb the surf’s echo

like a stage whispered murmur

moments before the stars

brighten the skies.

Some folks learn

there’s a curve to things,

the lines coil and bend.

Thrown together, sewn

together, the binding chord

rings in rungs.

Will SchmitComment