Drifting Gently

I graze sorrow—adrift a light, awaiting

triumph and glory.

We feature death and strive for life, ever

awake beneath a

portico. Our mares—sundry fruits, yearning

for but one. She

dances—a lesion heart, crystallized and

intimate. I take a

hand, and bend a knee; for her eyes 
speak of

love. So pier to

sun, a fantast gale; and floating worlds, the

worth

of Braille.    

Feel a moonquake: a soul to print—a soul to

speak;

for

brilliant lights plague a sea: chameleon waves

and buzzing

bees. I love much the art of wit: a clever nod,

a

soul to sprint.

So laugh and charm—the arm of God: a

welkin

face, a

lively chase; for yoke to neck, a garth of prose:

a

wharve of

life—but flaming cold.