Tectonic Crack

Winter had buried the tectonic Earth with...snow: a wedding white land; the xanthus plumes of the snowbird, with black amethyst eyes- their hearts. HIS cracked... cup... is a ground glacier till sculpture; he drinks the coffee; he looks at the color: perhaps the shade of a FLUXING moon; an ancestor's skin, of the hot Earthen cradle; the shores of Summer. Today pollen drops softly like the fold of a Robin's wings as they alight on tarnished grass, the brown-green tendons of Spring. The wings are the hue of black-grey clouds-mountains that rise in the evening sky-monsters-that float, suspended like their conversation. SHE smiles as he tries to brush her thin fingers, hue of a corpse on a medical examiner's slab. She withdraws. A door creaks, the curry -yellow drapes that cast night shades shift, caress the wall- soul of the sandy hare this morn'- she whispers, "THE WIND".