Why the quietude?
Inside the antiques store our images whirl around oblong frames, congregating
on edges of plants – a topiary that attaches itself to thin wires.
Pods, stems, and cones
in dried flower arrangements.
Against the cool, almost resonant & transparent mood of the penumbra
where our fingers are laced through
as we hold a cup against the specter of the sun.
Our fingers crawl, clad in kaolin, & expect you
to be the shelter of this transparency, the holder of the harlequin rose,
each diamond a fixed shadow against the nettling of its hues.
And the moment shepherds us through the blossoming
of a frugal resonance, as we bring the cup to our lips
- a compass over a silence where no petal is due.