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The Magnolia's Red Seeds
Another Cypress
Lemons
Trills
Montetalchino

 

 

 

 

The Magnolia's Red Seeds

She, a slender shadow,
On an deep yellow window shade.
Between us, three palm trees and a cedar.

Between us, a wire chained fence.
Between us,
Ancient and current voices.

She listens to the rain splash
On the white petals
Of the magnolia in her yard.

She listens intently to the fingers
Of the rain fondling the white of the magnolia.
She never sees the magnolia’s red seeds.

 

 

Another Cypress

Canaries escaped from cages
Trill in cypress,
A fountain of trills
Among the one drop,
The one-note song of
The moss-hidden Parula Warbler.
Jane’s skirt trembles
As her body
Becomes cypress sounds.

 

 

Lemons

Lemons
Shine
In the mirror.

I will stay
On the side of the mirror,
So my face
Will not block out
The lemons in the mirror.
The lemons
Are in a silver bowl,
The background, a white curtain.
I will stand
To the side
So I will not appear in the mirror.

 

 

Trills

The canary trills
In a yellow room—
The curtains, yellow,
The walls, yellow,
The chairs, yellow,
And on the floor,
A yellow rug.
The canary’s trill
Is silver,
Yellow and silver
In a tiny room.

 

 

Montetalchino

Red velvet,
Large mirrors.

Mirrors framed
In gold acanthus leaves.

Dark bottles of Brunello,
Dust on the dark bottles.

We, the illicit ones, hold hands,
Look into the mirrors.

We see not our flesh,
But our skeletons.