The muses in these murals
are seams of days,
the singing ones who
do not stop the brink
and second skins
from staining sounds
carmine, black looms
from warping profuse
poppies with sears –
they knead expanse
into ceaseless shape
along the course
of arks and bones,
along the jaded side
of light, they levitate
the breeze, their ages pry
the imprint of a psalm
and lavish haze on eves.
5:16 pm 26 September 2010
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