MY WORST ACT IS TALKING TO PEOPLE
WHO ARE NOT POETS

White gauze curtains the glass door,
                                                      Whitens
Outlines of red flowered bushes,
                                                 And
The dropped feather of  last night’s silent owl.
 
The outside view, liquid, no rigidity even in the stems
Of geraniums.
                      Frees the consciousness to cast out
Closures and conclusion,
                                      See
The geraniums’ green stems as orential dancers
In green silk flashing green lightning
                                                      From
Green silk shook sleeves,
 
Frees the consciousness to find an inner companion
And teller
               Of  fortunes.


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