On the cover a sky blooms
with heavy weather,
a woman's eyes gaze black
and wide at a boat
on water too blue
to be believed, or a flotilla
of swans. The gazebo
behind them, having already
been attained, loses relevance
in milky pastels; ivy
crawls through washed out
lattice-work.
Her head tilts, at her ear
the groomed mustache,
the cleft of a moneyed
mouth flushed and fed.
Aunt Mary opens the book,
opens the floodgates,
grows old with eyes ticking
in a wreath of light.
with heavy weather,
a woman's eyes gaze black
and wide at a boat
on water too blue
to be believed, or a flotilla
of swans. The gazebo
behind them, having already
been attained, loses relevance
in milky pastels; ivy
crawls through washed out
lattice-work.
Her head tilts, at her ear
the groomed mustache,
the cleft of a moneyed
mouth flushed and fed.
Aunt Mary opens the book,
opens the floodgates,
grows old with eyes ticking
in a wreath of light.
