Eve of Festivity

dusk closes today with a black curtain whisky,grog,we can contain none sweet saliver of silence: the snail hardly noticed as it climbs, its december! the scattered pieces of this golden dish bond together under the chanderlier over the dinning table like veins and arteries flowing through my heart the whistling winds blow seeds to my nursery bed to blossom into this charming tree, one plumule stems branches of surprise like diamond stars of the skies: my open palm of many fingers