Clare

 You snatched the elementstwisted dust to golden sunlightemptied 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 peacocksa trompe l’oeil of peacocks,a mystery man to palm the future like a rose plucked from your garden.