Poems of the Harvest Year
Paint me a canvas in the sky. Let the ocean be the brush, and the canyon, the empty pail. Let the pitter-patter gum drops rain on my parade. To fill the ocean with shards of fire and jade.
Swirling spiral drain, spun round, held by porcelain boulders. Dammed by barriers, of shining glass. Waterfall fabrics shading darkened rooms of singing and cleaning, to old towels soaking the flood water below.