wiping the eyes from your sleep

This is the last line  
and this song has turned lead-heavy    
and the cantors face is turning blood red…    
    
a stumbling cantation for asenath    
…despite us being drunk buddied-up like a forest fire,      
delinquents setting light to delicate groves    
where we’ll linger around      
scorched hay and former lambs    
and we ain’t waiting      
we just stand impressed.    
    
No-one’s going to reform this con    
(Old dads whistling tune, his eyes bird-light blue in the pocket of your jeans)    
still I’m trying to say something to save her    
like each bloom dropped would be a waif lighter off our last rites      
and stopping this bloodline means I profess more fealty with the trillion bugs in my home.    
It’ll dilute the arteries.    
    
A drop-dead sun bleached blonde heart, shaking the clouds dry; I shake its storms dry.    
don’t you realize love that its behind you and its getting ugly,    
you un-collared me straight so there are no strangers ever    
so don’t stake a claim on your son    
who’s already in you; its never over and you’ll have others.    
    
so hard to ignore my reflection in your illness-ed patina; god If I could I would drive it somewhere, over this forgotten cliff of a name.    
you got strains, I caught embers and your winds are too strong and they’re behind us.