Are not the fallen petals sacred under
trees, as memories, or leaves in autumn’s
thrall; vernal instability begun, her
tints take to flight in paper-hearts. Like Sodom’s
confetti, cast off bibilots obsessed
with covering the buried roots below
the shade. Removing lace of spring’s confessed
attraction, for the sake of fruit, let go.
And so we turn from love and plunge as well
in seasoned change regardless of our gender,
despite intent, our feelings pitch pastel
and plummeting, as seeds of coriander,
give up the parsley for a fragrant brown
releasing height, accustomed to the ground.
Her recollections freckle lavender;
rosemary purples, drift
and dot the scene, mid
pensive pansies with bruised
eyes that bleed
into canary velveteen,
let sail to bob and weave
with fennel’s eyelash greens;
a feathered flattery
that boats between
with spurs obscured in flower,
forsaking other blossoms,
rests with rue,
whose bitter sorrow
contemplates the hour,
chaste daisies chain and violets ensue
and float above the tomb
in buoyant truth; a eulogy
of pollinated wreath.
Ophelia stares through them
Unwinding, hissing, passing eons out,
ballooning flapped, elastic: time’s disease.
The years deflated under winter drought,
while oceans were reduced to antifreeze.
Through complicated wars of circumstance,
in heat and dust, a few survived. Though stiff
at first, our body-language did advance
and printed verse became a hieroglyph
and sneezed. Exotic font and serif said
it all, to modern scholars looking back
from Times New Roman, Palatine, instead
of Courier, Papyrus, Copper Black.
The future pouring over poems found
the curvature of letter minus sound.
The scarlet butte of Mexican Hat chokes
on unrelenting seasoned winds, (blew clear
through me). The huge stone sombrero shape, jokes
in sandstone, its humor drew me. Austere
walls rise to mesa’s, somber table tops,
that flatten under the skies, dropping down.
Then stair step to another level, stops,
deposited like silt, this silly town
with tourist prices, gas, deserted bar.
I met a stranded couple, (French) with brittle
nerves exposed, (the woman, nice), their car
was stalled and they just hung around a little.
Gave them a ride and finally a smile
at chance and switching hats once in a while.
Before inhaling minted atmosphere,
or we observed this clotted light through blood,
were we a pucker in the stratosphere,
a sonnet enveloped; a darling bud.
Until our crowning, did we dwell beyond
as equal subjects in normality.
Prepared for berth from voyages; re-spawned
and moored to comprehend mortality.
Perhaps emoting here we are refined
for frequencies we cannot engineer.
Intangibles forgotten, left behind,
will be expanded when we disappear.
When first in love or deep in grief’s despair,
then freed and delicate, we’re over there.
Ringing, freshly reminiscent,
wound through splotches,
burbled tumbled, gushed
tributaries flash persistent,
rolling past when
Rising rivers briskly
dams collapsing, warnings
run aground or
reveries have reached
The valleys stretch
and bow away
unzip the land
and glean the backdrop.
the sky with I-15’s
cats-eye and miles of blacktop.
through cobalt clouds,
the bands of light
are breaking prisms
caught reposed in angles.
slab of rainbow
No arc or ends,
the swatch above
parabola of sage
is flanked by storm,
dissolves and passes
on the driver’s side;
dropped from lashes,