Updated: Jan 23, 2022
Here was the door where the day walked in,
The floor feet made thin.
Why was the window cold with the full scene it shone?
When, at long last, did the thumb
Unmark the glass?
And when did the eye find a changeful slant of song,
Singing through the slant
Of new weather, tugging at the bedclothes,
Fixed in the blue fixture
Onstreaming over
The chimney; this scoop of land
Stooping out of its claim?
Somewhere on an infinite convex shard of ridge in moss-bark and the sediment of primordial pilgrims is the Vale Tree. Wrapped in sap, rivers of copper in its arterial leaves spark the treeline edge. T
Light refractions and milk dreams, You slink our street in all seasons, Supple ice, fractal sun, splintered tiles There on your Citroen throne. The road paves over a hollow, A gossamer tarmac film A s
A wisp off a train, jink in a summer hat. Her coat, different and the same our everything in its fabric. Luxembourg forests infinite grasses pint cans cheap chocolate and raw grain. Shorelines of suga