court this cottage-porch
like jazz
a half-moon on the cloudless sky
everywhere is youth
like the breath of breathless days
born of nights never ended
wind is a happenstance
weather waits 'til winter
and the congregation rests upon the sunshine here:
what's the next front porch
where the raft-ride passes for purity?
I'm on the lip
where everyone rides
here & hear the now
0 comments:
Post a Comment