Just a glance
Stigma with lime peel --
two small wounds between thumb and index --
where the salt residue is history,
the blooms jinx and wither
within confines of pluck and pull.
If the reverence required is anything
like still-life, I'll revere.
consideration, blind as insistence,
cannot arrange the worry, the fear of infection --
free from rules of place-point.
Peel with lidded jar underfoot (whispers) --
scars of funereal toil --
the first position is repose:
before the pluck, before the pull:
all is well in seclusion,
with lines that point to patient fruit --
fists that fold away:
some light, some shade of it
some notion of effigy
that curls near the corner --
near conscience in color.
I remember the elm
the shadow it made;how bodies reeled
of the sorrow
by the song of your fault,I swear,
Price. Paid for.Samaras
making their nevertheless downward path
to the concrete.
Whatever I prune grows back.
What spinning does,
is one spaceover another's
Why not let go? --
The room spins.