Selves have shelved
the Humpty Dumpty Faberge,
surely, a golden goose may lay,
and mother-ply the sky with bagpipe utterance,
squeezed in a rush
at the hush of dusk,
wings widening to tinged cloud:-
sunset yolk entrance
and pink meringue.
Sunset or dawn?
Confusion uses us so
to blush in shroud or shawl
to tempera,
crack-craze a glaze-gaze,
waylaid,
to squawk and feather-
a flight might Agincourt and fable,
catch the last post,
arrive on breakfast tray
on inlaid table.
..............
