That’s the end
- how they read the real
and with words I kissed him
while he lay and hoards.
And did I not make
the mustard bloom?
- the crooked sadness
beyond the marble, tongue to see
the ruins.
Which leaves the leaves of
reasons enough for strangers
the vantage most taken
by surprise
- he will choose the she-bubble
burden and stay it tightly
in his hand.
No fleck of wind in the
dictionary as such:
a touch of the habit
and unmoved when the storm sends
roses and toss the red
to brown, then black.
