A Dream of Love

Watching from a distance,
the nearest faintest star's
faintest star's faintest star
is just far enough
to require the commitment
of a heart stabbed true
by Eros' arrow.

The light of its ebbing
resilience dapple lingers
as its drafting wisp
hires the hit man
of love to shoot cold hot
the central angle
of an angel grown
silent in her wings.

Unknowingly, she paints
a floral banquet
on the horizon
of a broken symphony,
her heart made fragile
in its meandering stream
of consciousness
as she picks the last buds
before the mellow snow
that traces all the tree lined
fantasies quashed amuck
among the ruined cobbled
walls that line the boundaries.

Here the apple trees will sneak
at night and steal the linteled pollen
from the long leafed pine
and the valleys lit with grasses
lean limp lain with fawn
and jackal-minded weeds,
and the last drop of summer rain
rolls through, a staple
for the lone peach that waits
the mouth that begs the kiss
only the persimmon can claim,
rotten and black
and pure sugar.

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