…

the pebble in your left
orthopaedic shoe
& rain last tuesday

a certain afterglow
in the sunset’s curtains
when we both squint

plus the cataracts
in the glass eyes
of the blind mortician

or the sparrows nesting
in the west wing
of the matron’s beard

the gnomes in the garden
that wink when we blink
perfectly in sync

like the lipstick smeared
on the vestigal nipple
of the bishop’s catamite

are all redder
than a blushing herring
square one beckons us back

…