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.