on the hollow
passage in space,
the left the earth in
a silhouette. no contest took place,
though still morning rang elegiac
and the churchbell flickers a tollbooth
to which the workers would resonate;
a mourning to cast the umbrage of any moment's
hindrance; I ask, did
this flailing at some romance?
there was a fold in a tealeaf, tracing
akin heaven's wrist, a shied threat, to
wade amidst a sleeve. On her shirt
caught auburn and maroon, as the creases
yielded, a pedestal amidst the sky,
she turned in itself to rain cities on
"the earth here is draped in
a gilded yarn; no entrances are
so modest as the chasm
of all of our deceits."
stirs in the
depth of the
evening and knits,
"no freedom was so strict," she burst