CombustionA wave-crest hill Priding in place Summited an olive tree Joying in the cobalt skies. Lightening cleft The presumptuous plant Searing through its trunk Hurling one third down The bursting hill, and Left the morning reeking Of burning leaves and sap. *** Ariadne’s thread Caught fire, and A slip of flame Mazed she followed Scant ash To doubtful ends Lost and burning Unseen, unseeing While liquid gardens Glassed the sky – Fragrant tranquillity. *** Desire drips In molten wax Away From aching limbs, and the Scalding pain Eases Ceasing casing In grateful dawning dew. |