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.