(no subject)

[burntnorton]

the prospects for new love

someone planted the fields
with pylons.

from a distance
they look gargantuan.

up close they murmur dormancies.

once was an orchard here;
leaves were as green letters
of love for the sorrowful soil.

now complete apples go rotten
in a family's fruit bowl
and no one slips ink
and folded paper
into perfumed envelopes
anymore.

the electric
verve murmurs.

the gap
is insurmountable.