Two apples lay in the corner of my mouth, relishing the humidity.
Rose bud cheeks dripping with soiled promises
like the fairest climes where wandered the dainty knight.
Wandering in a pool of stagnant fish, a woman in a black veil
smokes the whiteness of eggshell skies.
In fire from ice, she floatsà they always float when black worms
slowly crawl under a thin blanket of snow,
digging in front of the copper mine for green-red oysters.
The medieval Clancy coat-of-arms bears
the sharp teeth of the predator over a bamboo shield,
a pitiful glimpse at what should have been a smile, a gathering of sparks.
Tender yeast fishhooks race through low tides.
Nothing moves me like the toy piano, sifting through ambergris.