A pint of colour, please An away look in your sky A fled kite’s isoscelean wound, diminishing To a hard black vee Storm cloud frown Storm cloud glee A string with bows, penanting Small change, wet On stain-blacked wood Dull as eyes As if it harboured a new dis-ease Cigarette burns, sidelong glances Wan as chartreuse evening A worthless treasure found Behind a temple’s shouldered offerings In the glimpse, in the glass Amber, salt, returning
