He’s
upbeat for mellow, a sort of wildfire, a freshet for
love.
So embed a jewel, the best of life, reading Carr;
for
a soul is winnowed, to gently prod, to filter life; and
there’s
a scar, to fill a pot, to deeply astonish.
He’s
torn a wound, to labor joy, a churning symphony.
She
saw for eyes, to cry a forest, writing a fever. They
mingled
softly, a faint design, cleaving to futures. He
tore
a lock, to forfeit a key, weaving a temper.
A
valley spoke, a flaming Tracy, morphing into Egypt.
He
dwelled a river, as cryptic as yogis, to shape a
dungeon.
Art grew, to frame a fountain, as toiled as
chemistry.
They wrote for laws, to flee a dirge,
screeching
through night-caves. He slept a moment, for
dark
infusion, gripping blue grass. There were grey hawks,
to
haunt for eggs, to uproot vision; but more a gem, a
jewel
of braids, to chisel heart-prints.
