Beauty and Perfection
are coy flirts, simply. Not...

Because the words hung heavy in the air
The triplet came rebounded, sounded back...

A cup,
filled with the stuff of life...

Nighttime in San Miguel is teeming and rich
and swirling with twilight. The sun fades...

The dancers take the darkened stage
in a shuffling shimmer of sound...

A million worlds
inhabit a single stretch of bookshelf...

I used to kiss
the buds alive...

I.
Mornings tumbled in bed...

I.
Sitting quiet in a bookstore...

Sun bathes rotted stone-
Leaping over the graveyard...

You
with your shadowy lashes...

Lighthanded,
she whisks a spoon around the kettle...