Rows of chairs in broken lines;
air still echoes satirists’ rhymes,
not yet flown from emptied halls;
footsteps falter, crumble, crawl.
--A hares Dance.
Crumpling with need, begging to be freed;
A memory bequeathed to never forget
Follow the path hidden by white laced breath.
--Those unable to Follow.
Undressed groves erected, quivering
as drooping branches blow, so gently sway;
the last illuminated heave of budding sigh,
till they too will drop, die.
Seeking in vain.
On an edge, lost in Thyme.
Transparent frost, a breathless liquid
Orb picked, ne'r to dine
Bring to me, my red lovers wine.
--Hidden in sharp grasp.