Sweet work in front of a mirror,
all the world behind in terror.
Neat work in thinnest shadow,
fall in the north, spring in the south.
Horses and jeeps, mired in snow,
balk or stall. Somewhere, a mouth
nurses open to create surprise,
clock in death a second time, lift
an eyelid. Harmless flirting eyes
summer in Puerto Rico, then shift.
Plan nothing, she thinks. Funereal
winter holds, an eye and window
frosted over. A blind sky's missile
landed here, a new season's show.
This came to me in three stanzas of four lines followed by the final two. Blog lost the space breaks.
ReplyDelete--Kelly Cherry