Worth

Your sound [little rock] to haunt

To startle, not free

Singing by herself.

It is imagined by

-she’s all awake-

And of this moment

And all its unconscious,

Scooped, sluggish, dispirited.

There, on the margin

Sang youth,

Heart-breaking tears

Creations lovely

As the work of

you.

A zealous and vexed heart

To puncture the air with

The sound of anger and

Indignation.

High on her breast

For opportunity presented

To send my eyes wandering.

Look down upon the works,

Was not for love

This bosom of pure innocence?

Inviting us to butter that bread

On that warm day,

To see it dribble staining yellow

Bleached skin down lusty valley.

Nature framed

A seat,

Forced upon me noticed

Chair, window-seat, shelf,

Flashes upon my retina.

That best gift of heart and eye,

A marvellous spectacle 

Within a cloud of fancy.  

copyright 2011

 

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