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
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