oldie

FOREIGN SHADES


diaphanous elbows beneath my garden,
a shallow grave of memory,
coiled like a holiday snake.
Repenting too late;
a chastisement of angels,
hurtling from below,
not one half so careless
as a cold reply tossed
expectantly beneath the cherry table.
Said it? you said it,
the windows pealed antiphony like
frozen cakes of mud,
blue-nosed to the ears,
and groomed as close as houses.


end