Warmer sun's day says,
it's a sparrow talk
ground punishments
are rescinded
as light elevates
boxes from the sea
to the bluer ocean.
Bright thoughts penetrate
the eyes' corners
to individuate spectral
yellow-orange blazes
with a rented wrecked aspen.
Tall budsmen, you've been peopled
against the concrete fact
of your desire to live among
kinds and kinds and kinds.
Elegiac noses smell the past
and see miasma as the
cardinal red feather death;
mouths willing to taste
see pine needle pricks
as beauty's life and fate.
Another story in a book
once a conifer, always ink,
from thought to think
we are sinking from progress
to a ceiling cellar safe.
Top mornings scrape the after eleven edge;
ticks sucked the tock
out of the clock's ears
and time won't hear
our smiles or our tears.
Roman Ryan 