Chronicled in shirt-sleeves, sun-smiling,
drawstrings pulled tight on tanning skin, dazzle puppeted,
what better grimace could be wrenched from me, more willingly?
Tame breeze, a tickle spider,
sun-suffused eyelids close ruby over virid,
open on shadowing cloud-wyrm dragging lamella belly,
as two crows rule stark parallels.
Soft flutter-wing, the sparrows burr as come and go -
and then the sky-oven on again, the great, green garden lantern
so dock-leaf featured -
to look up, through blood and skin, at that carmine wall, sun bestowed,
while thumb-pinned paper flaps, and, sweet resound
Sundays sostenuto to listening horizons.
