GROUPINGS
Ten men enfractured and worn on a cross,
weaving the wrappings like neckward floss.
The vagrant crystal, so sweet; lighting the
horizon with reflected glory. Sweet Sun,
never go down. The awe that the candle
may hold for the flame, that's what I seek.
-
Carmelized, the chatter; and the cars all are
beaming: Yosemite to Santa Fe, all filled
with listless candy-people staring out to
butter the hills and mountains. Children
squirm and chirp, while Dad rushes on
to the motel parking lot, idling at a
quite high speed; steady nerves
and happy feet.
No comments:
Post a Comment