Hector wears his leaves
in midsummer morning
paired with tangled tails, harsh with knots
while the kitten, bored and yawning
sits demurely

The ball begins to unwind again
and I’ll admit my voice was reproachful
I saw the sunlit bonfire overhead and
turned my heart as if to say
I’m glad to help if only I might
gently touch
a perfect impression of you
and your red eyes darting sideways

In this peculiar space
your brightness fades
and quietly you said to yourself
‘I couldn’t make you tidy’

This old dame will outlast the seasons
and Nature, affected
staggers aside,
blunders

A shadow deep beneath
a ruined pile
thought that it should be
dead by now
I put out my hands and
wicked tears fell like rain
I gave a kiss to make it understand and touched something else,
tho it flew away too fast for me
to see distinctly, in the darkness
It told me
‘I am here’

There was no telling as much,
always the same, the sun and the wind
somewhere
I had that chilled feeling,
certainly in early morning
as I think you very well knew.

gently, over a surface distraction that saw
the white giant crumble,
he flailing
and failing to be still
and at indistinct intervals
staggered, without consequence
flecked insane although I had not seen it

a rotten companion, solitude
a reeling, drunkard at ease in starlight
he will not hear her speak of what is
and what is not

I heard the owl cry ‘away with her!’
and how nice for me to see you
clinging to the flower spray, for now
we are older and for once safe
in our chambers
yes! consider those girls never alone
nor melancholy,
not the least of which in dreams

the moonlight made spots before me
colored
while i entered groping
singing
‘Will you dine with me on eggs and beer?’

The silkworms are but gone but words might hold me in catastrophe
The sun will go on with its usual calling
don’t fret now
it is our bedtime.

Nobody’s about the polish of
carbon darkness
but to her,
hours before her rescue
it was dreadful
and later
as the night brims shining,
she would gather about her
bright eyes for a sad tale.

I do not trust the steam in dreams
and yet I cannot stop it.
Happy summer days the sky pours
although there was nothing much to look at save the rains that polished a sailor’s sea
Something kindred and melancholy
remembers me
a wanton, restless bird
Eurydice
I dreamt disagreeably that I was drowned
then rescued before dawn
upon a bed of anemones,
(friends) expanded and swelled
to welcome me or were they violets?

I could think of no other purpose,
Love.
They sang throughout the night
while I was found, in the garden.
It would be simpler, he said, if they would just remember me, but
there were too many of them.

‘With a ‘well, well, well,
what have we here?’ I can enter any room
with confidence, hand on hip
[the Nurse called from within]

It reminded me of the idiots and ghouls
between myself and myself,
while I scratched like a cat.

What a piece of junk!
But I think that it will be enough.
The whole world was changing in those days while the haze reminds me of leaves,
and of you.

You are standing in a garden.