Scarecrow

On my feet 

Like a discreet declaration

Maybe even obsolete

Such is
that I am the scarecrow

There is day under meadow

And meadow under stars

As if the lift of sun so deep

Could bring the world 

To where they are

The wisps of grassen hair
unfasten to the crisp

Evaporating whispers
From the uninterrupted mists
Working crafty tethers

Bold as black
I hold as that
which leaps into a midnight stare

As long as those nights 

That pretend to last forever