My ardors paddle
with streamers.

A crush of horrors
silver and dark.

Slows down, slows down
for every sound.

Plays in the wind,
titters and sparks.

Bunts wild and dredge 
from any edge

feeds the birds
and carries the dead.

Climbing up 
inside my head,

crushes my flowers 
into poison and perfume 

or drops on the house
and gooses my broom.

Wakes up Mary
and her petting sheep

airing contrary
lagging knee deep.

Finders stay 
for minders.

Delusions 
play for keeps...

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