She was this silver moon
alight her seldom seen swing
or virtually then
as time in a bottle

and in this antiquity
on Saturday night
she grew the orchard
by the cloverleaf

when her bridge opened wide
and she felt so granted
that it was her ambiance or garth
near a point then

she went combing a ride
the bus did go that way
and her muggy wantonness
burst inside her chest every moment