Monday, July 21

In the Attic

and so pirouette the sunny flecks, so graceful floats the dust
on stuff and fragrance compressed in silence
sweet to the stomach, moment alone
dark world of wonder
hide in the seeking
sequined, the air tells no secrets
nor makes friend--you're on your own,  here.

gossamer spiders hush
tread trails in particles left by years
castles, courses, wee gardens of gray fur
panes of white, step into light
porcelain hands descend into jars, bars behind--deep all around. 

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