Friday, April 1, 2011

He Touches a Hand to the Column


-- What does ambrosia taste of?


-- It tastes of breeze.


He touches a hand to the column,

No prints...no breath...alabaster.

The sage taking glass steps,

Puce robe rustling,

Rustling resolved

In jasmine-laced

Tintinnabulations…


-- Watch, the ether spreads.


Carry in the stillness,

The scent of chimes…


-- The last mortal to enter these realms,

Quaffed the lotus elixir...most indecorously.


Enveloping…

Noxious…


-- His face! I remember!


Darkness ahead.

No comments:

Post a Comment