Buck and Wing

You might dance. I can’t. The name
Holds a tale—or it hides it—
As all names do. They come down

From past lives, and they rise up
Through new ones, throw out a wing
Or two, stomp, clap, stomp, tap, tap.

Tales are lies, most of all those
That hold in their names some truth.
Do you know why art so light

And crafts so fine drag the chains
Of how they rose from the cruel?
The first step life took proved cruel.