i

*******!-lily broke  a boot
lace..
a newt-like despondent
face

racked to the very
core
she wobbles to the utility
draw-

(first a  **** upon
the mead-)
-batteries,string,
beads


pens and pencils
copper
post card
cassete-the cure

a skewer for
potatoes
egg timer
timeless

plenty of fluff
dust
mastermind
cusses-

ii

the string hangs
in indecision
consider a
bangle

kicked and bangs
the woodwork at
an incongruous
angle

iii

on the table
meanwhile,
her solitary
boot sits
like me-
a hole for a
sole,
hung with a
lost
tongue,
kind of old
and worn
frayed and
torn
but optimistic
like crows
neither black nor
white..
we will wait..

iv

an adagio for string(s)
folded in two
love becomes
one

she looks like cloud(s)
is there enough to
go round?
always..

samuel barber