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".
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