[28-March-03]
Oh, the glow...
it was a gate and a gallows,
my discoveries under the nightblind tallow.
What victory that we could see
is trickery, is fantasy,
the towers built of brick and thus of dirt.
My ruin of travel by curdled mind's saddle
left me guideless, alone,
wonder had blown
to preempt the bend from life to end;
in turn, the eternal can churn her.
For feebled eyes saw some surprise
but masked and cut confusion.
And today, away, on flat fields I focus;
practical and serious but still not jokeless.
I'd invite in wonder but
too much color brings thunder;
I can recall it all with a conjured, remote kiss.