Monday, December 21, 2009

Snowbound by jkd

After Alexander Maksik's A Green Umbrella & Rufo Quintavalle's Shelf 19

I ask the flimsy flower

having sucked

toxins from

the infertile moon

there above the city

on the rusted, waxing night

weather turning wide of

an ending season’s warmth

a green umbrella

abandoned by my door

a gesture

perhaps you or yours

at last or longed for


that, too, in this hesitancy

widened breaths

the little beach

hoping for deserts

against ocean swells

carrying things away or

looking in on the room

by my bed, your crippled desk,

some evidence sought

against tides’ black crescent

curves, listed or listening

to rain and ice floes

drifting decades

or kilometers late

too wide to go round

the urban bustle

thunder on the rise

toward the dark ship, mammoth

glacial blue and bluer still

all head cocked

strolling bare foot

ragged hair in your eyes,

sapphire wonder

for this one


a last sign.

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