i.

If ever the touch of my inconstant heart
leaves a trail of snow that must be followed....

ii.

From where dry leaves of early autumn fall,
a sullen shade of rust,
to raise my eyes to hear
the sudden cry of gulls on a grey-misted day
beyond the verse and impasse of wild geese leaving
shadows across the earth,

my mind shall return to the flatland
that meanders through
all these breaths that have been stolen away,
ever resurrected in the sun, rolling distance into time
time into the single eye of contemplation.

iii.

Another blossom falls into what the voyeur sees
and petrifies an ancient wood,
here fields of winter wheat bow to the orgy of wind
and eggshell-blue skies
tell the story of a vagabond caravan, where all the men have
braided beards of benevolent kings
and their queens are draped with miles of silk
that surrender into the desert night

iv.

....and the night blooms scarlet drops of passion
and its scent fills my senses
with the orgasmic fire of your presence.