(no subject)

[ketchupinator]

The children are all gone
to bed-
I think they laughed
half-heard; half-heart
between two waves
& the sea.

The dancers are all gone
under the hill-
& a cold friction
rash; brazen was
clutching
& clinging
to the decline-

Here comes the flood.

In this twittering wind

the Rise
& the Fall

slanted way back
on rhythmic cadence
& rhyming descants.

A light was bending;
coming to
an eyebeam
on surface glitter
& the end, we knew
was beginning
& the new earth smelled
fresh
like rain.

Even these days
must move in measure
when the light withdrawls
to warm other fingers
So I find words
I never thought to speak

The patient will not wait-

buds in bloom
wither quietly away
& our histories will dunn
in a warm haze
like smokefall
on bits
of paper.