Crax in the ceiling

Nobody’s sure anymore about what we felt sure of before we weren’t sure and I am not sure anyway.

But
we built our houses from straw
spit and sawdusted the floor
what were we waiting for?
absolution?

absolutely?
well
Pan played the pipes like a flute
he
was a ram of a man,
are you sure of me now?

© 2019, John Smallshaw.