Simple Folk

Around me everywhere
People are saying
The hard-edged words of reality.
They are praying
To a solid god whose kick is no illusion
And whose house
Is not a poet's corner of confusion.

They arrive
By the stone stairway step a day,
While the winged children strive
Against hysteric winds to stay
Flapping vaguely in the tear-wet air
Calling on the spirit of Prophecy to witness their despair.

§ Title in pencil