You snatched the elements

twisted dust to golden sunlight

emptied rain into ripening apples:


now earth glimmers with new potencies.


They come to you, hands high eyes empty:

you spin them stories of their own intentions,

gossamer web woven, for tomorrow.


All that’s missing here are peacocks

a trompe l’oeil of peacocks,

a mystery man to palm the future


like a rose plucked from your garden.


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