The Artist wandered further
for whispers carry their weight in stone,
his eyes worn following the Moon
for in his deserted Atelier, spiders spatt
cobwebs and threadbare floors empty.
Gone was the  idyllic image of the cherry blossom
that daintly settled on the ground
for now it collects over a canopy
where rogue cheeked maidens
gander .
And the memory of Muriel, his muse
who danced foolishly into the fire, returns.
Wherewithal can we ever measure the true value
For she was not guarded,
stubborn even, against those denizens
the way of the World being evil
and the remnant of the Flemish cloth she wore
laid out alongside the stone wall.
The flicker of innocence ruptured
A brush stroke never  rendered.

Under the thinning boughs of the Ash
he recanted the hush of the woods
The rain's dearth relented
as the Dryads, braided new ideals,
promising great abundance.
The sated Moon-flowers  swallowed the
nocturnal owls silhouette.
The fallow lands  impervious
to these swathes,  broom
sealing their heedlessness.

Betwixt the wish to endear
with soda bread and cabecou
as ever our vases of marigolds wither with age
Yet I wish we could auger well, while standing still
with a *** of lapsang tea
before you  kick off your slippers
tip toe upstairs
in sweet anticipation,
entice this confusion  with our X and Y's,
and by turning the latch of the bay window
you will look into a misty pool
and dream of your  entitlement.

He rested his walking stick by the corner
having stubbed his toe,
overseeing the cat grass grow.
Outside he would stoop only for wall flowers
refusing politely to enter stately homes,
for he wore but one Name, his own.
Under nocturnal happenstance
he would fend for the stray Marmalade cats
their gratitude matching his deciduous cloak.

Time runs through her promises
and discounts them
one by one
for such are these cart wheels
made to unravel the stony path
and yonder the Ash
jowl to cheek
their  longevity snaps
soiled by the wood-colliers

we tread  pebbles
that fornicate with the dead
laying  haphazardly
to unburden their endeavour,
de-fragmented
a Memory of un-feasibility
proclaims  the broken Path  
and purchased here for eternity

I had only offered Madrynne a *** of
Shikokianum and a Herb Robert,
but before long, the calm of the "maiden grass"    
had over-reacted
their crown lain a heavy price,
for not only had I  rattled their jealousy
but a  subsequent breeze
scorched the floral bract,
of my prize "laidlaw" Bougainvillea
a cankerous deed -
cleft from veins,
like a storm brood
will there be such rashes again ?