Star Child

Words of lime, mouth of ginger;
tongue of ice, throat of water.

Powder the sun
a dizzy mellow.

The rain drunk stiff,
the street comes softer.

Salty rays on an open eye,
inverted scales of concept —
dim to blind —
and in twilight of state —
citrine twirls opal
on glassing sky map.

Blacken the drum.
Fade keys.
Or else, fall a season below
and cup flower there.

But sweetening the grit in the eyes,
the clock-hands wind around the head
grapevine wire in stray thought
at the base of a succulent crown.