Once time’s mouth was sewn closed upon a year’s accumulation:
crossbow iron and wood, a rusted apple, an hour of  autumn
afternoon come down here and have a
game of backgammon.

I’ll buy you a beer
if you tell me which piece you like:
sulfur chunk or purple quartz or castles of wulfenite
or blue-green copper sheets or sandstone or ruby & star opals or
 

(                                                                                                     )

In retrospect, hindsight is exactly that:  memory cyrstillized
ih tne flaw, eye in fog mirror uneven  leaving the words
undeveloped negatives sealed in an envelope
savagely torn

to free birds
born/burned in cinema
from the blue, unable to control the meanings
they did not mean spinning with a life of their own passing us like a freeway, leaving no

trace or displacement of the ground. Was this the name we came to see?
I’m not sure what I expected, but a gangly man with thinning hair
a little more broke eight-track than iMac,
was not one of them.

But both
came in a variety
of candy-colors: the gift of choice
for his, yours and my scattered superficial imaginations.