Corners flipped,
discarded, shuffled in.
Stacked with jacks and
seen with queens at clubs.
Canyons, buttes and bluffs,
tabletops of scenic green.
Stability is chipped away
in handfuls, ante-matters
prone to meet.
Embers die against the screen.
Bellows rage,
but Decency proceeds.
These are let and spent,
rough rentals in our consequence.
Let the brazen race begin.
Form and trace long-lasting,
the audit lent us confidence
(rehearsal in a sacred maze).
And where we went,
a pence sufficed to split the weight,
our gravity had aged.
In the brook
(beneath the wind)
pariahs flex
their gentle fins.
Untouched in play,
unsought they pray
that this will never end.
Willow branches
edge away,
rolling hills
are staid.
But field mice stay
and frolic in the shade.
Feste's Lute 