after the frankincense
the smell of ash,
the silken line of poetry
(in things we shared) becomes
gimcrack expressions
of lovetime i wrap up the antiques:
dinner at Valles,
a single dandelion by the Avon,
maples, the first snowflakes,
others, definitions
of lovebecause
you don't read poetry anymore
and we do not love,
words, written out of time
are but a poor paraphrase
of love
Published in Somewhere, A Tiny Voice (1997)
