After a Nap the World Beckons

Cut the olive tree in two places

into three pieces, olives

fall to their pits

Gilded rockstars turn to megatantrums

Re-release the special vessel with the hard-top and sailor’s hands

bland as perfume let me breathe you in

deeply, only you

rocking in honeycombs

You were only you the moon swooning

to the violins of crickets lounging

in their bed of dead leaves

Wrap me in moss, Spring let me go

My fate traces the lines in my hand and cuts them deeper, says the palm reader

was wrong, that my longing is shallow and I will be buried in shadows

What tomfoolery fate! my belief in you is shallow

this is what you see o wrong-eyed one!

The pencil, held loosely, aimed squarely at the light

makes a point, impermanent