The stream (all workshops)
love -- for you
until the sun turns dark and falls
'til the seas dry up and fade
'til stars stop twinkling
or I wear the souls of my feet off
coming for you --
'til clocks count backwards
and the lens can't see
or granite is soft as cotton
on slopes of the Rockies
no light shines --
'til all wine sours on the vine
'til I can't write another word
or hear another verse
in this skull of mine --
A tip with greens and tangerines
attach to some large thing beyond
the frame's geometry, for granted
and on blue
Mathematical? Not like the hour
I look away from what is crumpled,
and see nothing
And I assume
the garden chairs still lie about
Crickets in what I thought was
grass,- (their number troubles
me), but one
Beneath the cotton parasol
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