Of all the things inside my head
I wonder which I’d choose
The shiny saucers on my wall
With patterns on them all.

Some painted by Susie Cooper
With dainty flower heads
And others Brambly Hedge
With hedgehog tucked in bed.

Then in blue and white china
And Churchill on the back
Picturesque moments of bridges
Willow chintz and that.

Finally the many flower fairies
Their delicate floaty wings
Sitting on a tree branch, Cicily Mary Barker
Who loved all tiny things.

Love Mary ***

Flesh adventures in noon-lit meadows
Wrapped deep in the brushed embrace
Lips plant hushes on pale moaning skin
Coupled love locked up in soft asylum
Crushed together, lost, looking for more

Banana slugs and innocence
Wooden figs carved into decadence
Forgotten clearings now overgrown
With brambly memory and seeds long sewn
Another chapter, the page now turned
Only photos remind us of bridges burned
Set-down love poems can't be unmade
The ink may hollow but it never fades

underneath the throbbing roof-beam,
where no words
bend
sliver
fall
in the
subtly put
dark -
beyond **** light, i,
a falling leaf soldering to Earth
or a ****** of wind crossed
by brambly foliage and crisp sun remembers flesh in our arms and now, flailing to dance in fledgling
beat
  
      endlessly as a secret,
      a cajole of a finger
      into the heart of storms,
      or the rain's secret upon
      pried flowers about
       to set loose in the
      teeth of the cold wanting
       to make pale fire.

I WILL CAPITALIZE THE
EXCLAMATIONS OF LAMENT
AND KISS YOU WHOLLY

as if nothing happened,
everything rearranged with
careful hands like furniture
in a household

I WILL SURRENDER MY
SUPERLATIVE ARMS
AND THE GUILLOTINE
OF THEIR REITERATIONS

as if everything is ripened,
everything repeats with analogue
flame and reappears unsullied
as a chastised vestige

I WILL TAKE THE SUN AND
EAT IT, SWALLOWING THE
DAYS AND THEIR APT DELINEATIONS

and whisper to your ear,
the night where everything
emerges fresh and anew, glazed
like budding of fruits hiding
behind brambly walls of leaves,
as speakeasy as a salutation,
as formulaic as a synthesis
of light,
as unprecedented as a salvage
of lightning at the back
of silver hills,

take you in my loving arms
and tell you
everything i feel.

A glimmering white stone flickered
in the depths of a murky snow melt pool
tucked behind a mess of brambly bushes
and surrounded by pine.
A man stepped into the frigid water
His handsome reflection (distorted by ripples) drew closer
as he reached in and plucked the stone from the muddy floor.
By inspection he noted its apparent imperfections
that hadn’t been visible from the surface
It was wrapped in cracks that had filled with dirt and grime.
“I thought you were perfect.”
He grumbled with dismay
and began picking the dirt from the cracks with his fingernails
which themselves became ***** and ragged from the effort.
He cursed and pulled a brush from his bag
And began to incessantly scrub.
The brush made the surface of the lustrous stone shine brilliantly
Yet seemed to force the dirt deeper into the cracks
So he reached for a needle
And began sliding it through,
scraping the stubborn grime.
His face wrinkled in acrimonious disgust
when his needle broke against it.
“I cannot enjoy a stone so riddled with undesirable scars!”
He scoffed
“I will find a better stone elsewhere,
One that is clean and pure.”
And he tossed the stone back into the pool.
(  ( ( ((plop)) ) )  )

Years later, a wanderer covered in scratches and dirt
stepped softly to the pool
and bent down for a much needed drink.
The stone dimly peeked from under a layer of silt and slimy algae.
He curiously reached in
and pulled it from the mud.
Rolling it over in his hands, he smiled and sighed
“Oh, beautiful stone
Once without contusions
but now weathered by the world.
You have survived trauma and time,
Yet still shine
so magnificently.”

He brought the stone toward his heart
and continued over the mountain pass,
Smiling pleasantly at the storm ahead.