An evening in the park
We stood
Conversing as children
In the still pond of a mother’s vision
A stolid echo of father’s sunken eyes
Lifted only in the breeze
Like a skirt
Or like a memory
Of ageless mystique
Buried in the secret spaces of longing
The mourning heckling the machine
Out of the caving body
Day in day out
Weaving a tapestry of abyss
In the pigments
Brushing the walls of an attic of mind
An addict of dissonance
Begging material discord
In the ravaged ashes of a trace
Of timeless stare
Drowning in the neon mist
Of a late august braeburn
The fall is coming on
Advances crystal still
Like a lake of ice already
Resonance too thin
The ceremony is submerging
In futures’ shivering current
So blithely innocent
Though still sparkling
Trim love and howl
Glassy feathers’
Musty hymn inaudible
Sounds a kiss
A gaping for more
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