[1]

He picks and secrets in his coat pocket four wine maple leaves. And when he arrives, he places them on his desk; glowing embers against dipping mercury and the drip of night’s hourglass.

[2]

Her body sways in a night club, a wire Twanging in the gusts. (of alcohol? Of li-n-es He is glibly feeding her?) Later everything Would be lost and found, when he peels open Her folds and tastes his rancid need.

[3]

He juggles and draws, from a bag of things Given and accepted, this time, a green notebook. From it a silver palm print pressed on a sheet of black paper fall out. The pages thus emptied, are again his to populate.

[4]

Her angular face is a sandstone brise-soleil to which he eagerly ties his talismans, poems, prayer flags. But if he leans forward to kiss her, Time will became opaque. He must Remember this important rule:

“Muses, as other pedestal-ed things, need to be observed from a (safe?) distance”