XV. Above Florence

Late, & the shades gather their little packets

Of belongings as the milky shallows of the evening

Roll up the awnings of the firmament We shift

The faculty of perception of things a little, easily rustling

A scarcely any clothes as they're thrown across the bed or floor,

& a not many trumpet notes float up on the outside of the black mesh . .

Cooling one time again all of the fires we watch together, like this,

As they arise, for a like reason slowly, from the arachnine city below.

Copyright World rhyme Incorporated Mar/Apr 1998

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