The Wedge
The bronze bowl
-once a concubine's
...
Through the broken hedges
A style is realised
And a word alone
And a gap noticed
...
The unmoving of the air sings the midwinter sigh
Trees being unheard veils of the summer memory
Their thin rhythm hold the alighted evening notes
A suggested whisper in the dusk sky emptiness
...
1 to be a maitre d'
leaning on the bar
with a white shirt
...
There at the end the virgin counsels us
If we ask if she chooses
This is a black this is a white
...
Sunlight on the leaves
A seductive tale yet
Movement murmurs some doubt
With the cooling shadows
...