Offerings to the god of the carnival
You were the last of the lizard tricks
with your clown shoes on
teaching the rest of the velvet turncoats
about the cost of the rain and the rest of the words
The wind caught the brightly patched kite that danced for you,
swinging in through your gilded secrets
disguising your mischief as gun grey skies
and apple coloured laughter.
There is always the edge of iron
i do not come lightly
trickmaster, gypsy, thief
but you show me the turn of hand
where the magic lies
you hold no judgement on my own disguises.