things fragile in gift shops
Dangerous place for the clumsy
Chipped, dropped, fractured
Hastily taped together
trace the deliberate imperfections
..who…puts old wine… skins?
His parables of hide stitched
Into a cup
Filled with the moon
Excuse me, to the…
To the moon and back
No trip for the faint of heart
I would never say
You were just an accidental poet
Shoulders back, wing-perfect posture
You emerge from mid-morning
Lament- second to last,
Second to last
Explain it is not the tighties you mind
But the dull, uneventful patternless white
I must not forget these words fixed in light
—till you say?
Just a little bit…just a little bit
…but you said, no! You. Just. Said. No.
Child of perfect posture
Please, please always, always
Fly home, my little winged one.