an orangey-red plastic toy
tugboat, the size of an eight
yr. old's palm--is pulled out
to sea.
painting by number via ripple,
glowing like a stubborn ember.
it briefly idled in your standard
size sand bucket--bearing the
likeness of a ripe watermelon's
skin, streaks & all.
cemented by wet sand, to
its rim--sand ***** writhing
as they did with dinosaurs.
sort of like Ronzoni shells
copping a dance.

a brook lends the

smoke of:

Patchouli.

a sparrow soaks

like a piece of

bread.

irresponsive to

water.

it may be remiss to state

time to plaid blue sheets

of sky.

especially when unasked.

while leaves hovel over

patchwork.

gothic appraisals of vanquished love--

an auditorium at maximum capacity.

a vampire standing ***** before every

wooden seat.

in the dead of, in the dead of, in the dead

of night--breaking the neck of what turns

back, in pindrop hollows.

all hissing simultaneously, at the girth of

loss, trembling with elation.

there's something about

a cardinal, flitting across

saturated woodchips after

a downpour.

as if throwing back air in a

looksy of: fly.

whose tree cover tantalizes

a resonance that treats the peace

between wetness & color.

sometimes there's an existent

persuasion, that shadows individually

agree to blend in, As.

that is--they enter.

you know they've entered, having

conjured them, too well anon.

a merciful mark that appears &

disappears--hiding for your sake.

known by import, that which seeks

the gratification of seeing...but not

being seen.