By Daniel Rodriguez

The angels dance here in between
The air and the silver moon.
Them devils only come to dream of this.
The saints come in with mirth and joy.
They sure come in and dance up a storm.
They’re turning table, reciting poems,
They speak what comes off hearts and tongues.

You know they’ve been here once before.
They wore the same old heavy coat.
They seek no fortune, seek no fame, just a few wild horses to tame.
Hearts and tongues.

These hearts, these dreams, these webs we weave.