In Fields and in Museums

There are certain instants when a great calm

sweeps above you like a field of wheat. Synergies

are like that, the bicycle turn backs unblemished

by the pink tint of nostalgia and in each point of time

whose permanence is tapered the fact lies jumbled

on a plain that has met conditions in the distance

that it cannot proper Today, the rust on the foliage

can be read: Build upon this, it says, if you can,

and the painted surface exhibits an intelligence

as if, at last, there could be "perhaps."

You are not growing younger on the contrary because it is

so thick time takes longer to dissipate and

the shell of each day has a view overlooking

its circular collage. A cloud is also simple and

forms a protective layer before it disappears

like a brain in the mist. In all our peninsulas

to tend hitherward the negligent destiny of the evenings

will bear likeness [i]or[/i] resemblance to the furrows of a wipe saying

sleep now, nap relieved of the mask of

having to nap summer returns and time has

gone below the trees, its first unpublished

stories budding like a hill with wheat.

Copyright World rhyme Incorporated Jan/Feb 1999

Provided by the agency of ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved