Glottis After Breakfast

The light slated horizons through the blinds
The fruitful shaded hands of the gingko leaves

they are the something to be seen and said
about dust which neither understand
as remnants, so like yourself,
so attributed to lost pieces
for completed compositions, me too,
supposing the beach with sand castles

and all of the something in a shift,
and our acting, action resolutely ignored,
in kitchens where ceilings expand
beyond assembled lines of tables,
as day ellipses and a crest revolve
we pull off a shelf, down to a stainless
point, so fixed, a reliance acutely done
with all the pain of an inedible
which we decide how far it will go

In a forgotten backyard
Of one who never did say cease,
Broad pin steadied into possible ecstasy
And gaze distant entry of an earthly waltz, slow
Speckled through grills from that old fence
And the cypress boughs’ fragrance
Tuned with the guide of some arm

leading air particles off the farce,
fallen from a thing of architecture
and as quick as that- we’re back,
to where we started, collapsed,
shedding skin with cats and dogs, only
us with handfuls of fetid allergy,
not knowing if the fan or the vacuum
is which and should be turned on high
as a black hole swallowing constellations

neither, both, a black cat with closed eyes,
of green stars, curled atop
a grey wool sweater pulled from
the hope chest made of cedar
and lined inside with mirrors, reflections
when opened upon tangled brush
from branches of verdant summer,
but peacefully thought

Upon down aspects which the native tourists ring
Solemnly passing with the shadow’s full glissade

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