Still Life For Words In C Sharp Minor

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From the anthology, Complaining to the Clock, a work in progress.

Still Life for Words in C Sharp Minor

They strolled the shady avenues 
under a noon sun in the summer,
smelling the emergent gardenia bulbs 
spinning maniacally in their mastery;
so they gathered up the white flowers 
with practiced deliberate fingers,
bringing them to their stuffy noses, 
to breathe in their exhalations of perfume spice.
They ventured askew with unstated intent, 
roused by infinite atoms within,
to an open screen door, 
wherein they saw intense sunlit explosions,
filtering through as determined light creatures,
and pulled through moaning space 
for a secret rendezvous,
a shady sojourn of weird curiosities, 
enacted behind a single closed door, 
and other astonishments never before seen, 
much less imagined.

These invisible wisps have entered in now,
with their practiced rituals and protocols,
known only to the obscure and the crazy.
They seek to find a still darkness; 
Instead, they receive a green carpet, 
stretching from room to room, 
with old worn furniture gawking,
leads them to the regal dining room where
a crystal chandelier made of dull glass 
hangs limply from the pale ceiling.
And flashing cloudless before them, 
a curtained-spreading window, 
exposing for the both to see, 
a wide angular swath,
of shimmering gardenia blossoms.

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