SEVEN POEMS
WHEN FOOLS DISPUTE
A trickle of dawn insinuated itself
Through the crevices of black satiation.
The elderly trees coughed, lightly, hurriedly,
In remonstrance against the invasion.
Lean with a virginal poison
The grass-blades shook, immune to light and time.
A bird lost in a tree
Shrilly flirted with its energy.
One fool, in the garden, spoke to another.
ENDING
A flitting benediction of words
Stood, one by one, upon
The warped threshold of your mouth.
Dreams are wandering realities
Stooping to pick stray roadside flowers
And making silent boutonnieres:
Silent drops of mockery.
And since the flowers quickly die,
Dreams must ever walk with closed eyes.
Hearing you, the dream I held
Opened its eyes and perished.
