Garry Knight
CC Some Rights Reserved
This is the nicest dress you have ever
seen in moss-wind, blowing over the cliffs;I am standing here, there are the lows, lifts,
and great moments—there is a sound, tremor
emanating from the mountain's side, lore
of dragons who have swallowed princesses.
The flakes of gold fell in drifts of snow, myths
two feet deep that melted, flood--more
vanquishing than all previous troubles,
crippling our deepest intentions at love,
making communion too intimate, wine
next to a poet, and winery next to bubbles
floating over the freshly mowed green, doves
on the pear tree that was wick back in time.
