the brawn of small clouds
camped in sunshine; scudding a deep blue
as the Sun tanks the Palladium
of All Dark… dangling from a trick Unexplained
in a world UnObserved.

Drupe in a plows thought… an ‘ Afterward ‘ that bears fruit
as the Gardener wanes. Moonlorn and intricate.
all days dunder in the rough trumpets of our entire songs.
as only our sirens deployed in anguish
ever scope the happy of our Finding
Love.