A sprouting wall beside a sheaf of time
has greater claim to cinders of a trope
on days when speech and sleep erupt as rime
in wary corners of suspended hope.
Enchanting like a cave adorned with trees,
the iris smile has cast away its salt
toward the vineyard’s power in the lees
brought to candescence in a vital vault.
As features of an artless lover’s poise,
perfections of canary trills and chance
are line and light borne out of night and noise –
the moment’s worth is frozen in a glance.
The sea consumes its turf in wave and storm
that greet us as slight clauses of a norm.
7:39 pm 13 July 2010