Your spherical glance melts a stick of butter
Heat carving a river down the side of the gourd
Looking up at a water tower, a mountain
With a name that time remembers
Without knowing who belongs to it
Belonging to the light that comes off
The joyful edges is a delightful curse;
Yes to all, the face says to the clock
I've forgotten all the two letter words
Ruining a Scrabble game is no longer
On a menu at a restaurant where some
Circling the table yearn to cry and
Others awkwardly laugh at the
Powerful's anecdotes, lubricated by
Grapes from another time, turned
Into another whisper of a morning
Alarm clock coming into its purpose
At an unwelcome bend in the river
Of a dream that has more recumbent
Layers than a seated bicycle race
Across a landscape that won't last forever
Roman Ryan 