“and just what right might you have–”
,jostled little Ruff into my ear,
“–to feel like stone cold clams, when–”
then comes a bird lifting over my shoulder
“–there’s a fire for you all over?”

and the moon sighed softly to the room

“not like a right, but rather–”
,i teared over his cotton face,
“–a photograph I keep seeing
on my windowsill, no matter–”
when all the doors blew open and up
“–how many moments I throw it away.”

as asters bloomed when daybreak loomed
and roses went red forever.