encircled by a ring of wine on teak
from where you set your glass in february
on the tattered page of a violent novel
nestled at the foot of my winter bed, beneath
an afghan crocheted by sorrowful tales
ringing in the woodpecker’s persistent rap
on our iron chimney cowl
atop a Zeppelin of the dreams I set free
masked in a wing of scarlet paint
across a bum’s haggard jaw
sealed in ironed wax paper
next to a frozen four-leaf clover
—
i search for that girl
in all the wrong places
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Such depth in each line. Wonderful perspective
Thank you!