i'd love to have
a photograph of that

 . . . round town, rapt
fat, w/ an infant-blanket.
sky, soft as cotton swabs,
was not across the whole
bubble; only so briefly
held like attention spans;
those telephone poles &
lamp posts—amusing nights
light—too remote for influence;
they were curling finger splayin'
gagainst melting pastels:
traditionally, pink, blue
yellow; turning purple,
peach, then orange;
and erring, on
into carnation.
oh! so rosy, our
baby powder; but,
largely inarticulate.
set. rigid, victorian
with its taste; acquaint
abstinence & habit; equate
fake to antique. when all ben-
evolent colors of this fresh, pale,
efflorescence was—dwindling, these

twiggy trees—spring.