Caravan
(December)
December’s
coach of warm daydreams moistens fluid again so they wrinkle, and make their
thudding muchness into the aisle whose dry cross’s gone into the great flux of
mushroom white that transform slabs and stone wallow. So thick a mortal it
draws beforesaids from its box, so they go a controlled tool pouring upwards to
the next stone fitting: a rainbow for mode and brief annals. The two caravans
at angularity, ticking, are just off for the midsummer leaving behind us these
green crests… down through their bolts. Spatterings hissing up as if on vents,
plumes reaping the midland references.
caravan 1
caravan 2
caravan 1
caravan 2
No comments:
Post a Comment