Master

O Master of Eyes straighten me out.
Remove horizons so I might not stumble.
Make all backsides be upfront.
No lying at the water’s edge.
No head in the sky mouthing clouds.

O Commander of Ears stop echoing mountains.
Keep murmuring   brooks and creaking trees away from forests.
Have Echo become one and say what she means.
Allow clouds to rain and dictators to be seen,
and clear days in no need of croaking frogs.

O Lord of Lilacs shield road apples from the sun.
Drip honey from the nostrils of steeds.
Lope them across meadows of butterflies.
Merrily squish, squash and slide them into pens
of oinks and cackles in piles and piles of farm fun.

O Undertaker of Monstrous Deeds
show me a baby at a mother’s tit.
A man not lying but walking the plank.
A woman clinging to his back to the bitter end.
A crowd laughing and dancing, singing and sighing.
  
The human heart is a mixed bag
just out of reach.
See that cane?
Come give it a good swing.