mast

these are solemn moments
dripping from the aching
honey-eyed plants

they are reassuring
but the flamboyant fleet
has set sweet sail

the waving imp dawdles,
dancing on the stern,
in a single pirouette
he spits, yelling out:

"do not piss off that gnome!"

the sea maidens are humming
a tumultuous rock strewn song:

speak to serious and forgotten flowers,
the only ones that ever spilled thought
of healing blossomed wanderers

with tango slipped dresses
and torn smiles that sainted 

all the onlookers

the harness
stepped into
the maker's hands

the buckles fell open
laughing like odd little ducks

seeking tighter gleaming
entrances they were cinched
by marvelous aching spectators

acn ©
11.08.08