The stones bleed capers.
And the road has thorns
Like yellow tentacles.
The sky is rent in two
By a burning anchor.
The stones bleed capers.
And they wayside is a home
Named after the olive's prayers.
The drifter tips his
Hat, to death.
The stones bleed capers.
And the day is a water melon
Bleeding with the kiss of the sea.
The farmer sells his lettuce
Where angels cry.
The stones bleed capers.
And the silent city looms
Beyond the morning call.
The heart erects a dome
As it feasts.
Oh mother The stones bleed capers!
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