Enter the saucer
coiled of air
murky clouds on the table
rainswept into a spiral
cup of dark water
there are enough
frangible moments to
make this an ars
poetica of form
lanced of content:
poppies may be as orange
as the line
down the table's center
which does not go
with the shadow
is blue.
The album opened
onto a room a letter
that was never forgiven
coffee mug pools in shadow.
If I could tell you
without anxious precision
mistrals of feeling
I would not have to
skip around so.