Neburlar Viscosity Poems

I once could seal the sea in words with kissing
that passed from lips to lips that now seek none
but yours, whose cold and blue but soft maintain
a gloss that thieves would steal if lips were gold.
...

I remember the tree, a golden hue spilling
in the due of morning. It stood out, motionless,
stretching its boughs over the Artless landscape.
...

And when, above, the clouds
part between the abade of the red
sun, and sets her tired winds
on the exhausted boughs,
...