Closer to the sunrise. The yes of the morning. The right turn into work, a sideways turn away from the glory.
Blown gold leaf limelight glisten wet road
Makes square coin of manhole covers
Who delicately inlaid gold leaf on Main Street?
Who risked wealth available to all on an open street?
A fire that does not burn. Pages without words. Colour without life.
Worked worn grain
Who chiselled your face,
Where were you hewn?
Where were you felled?
Where did your seed fall?
Fractal Romanesque Cauliflower
Fibonacci as vegetable
Cathedral ceiling you can eat
Down in the valley mist as if Alpine rests between
trees, streetlights like baubles
October afternoon smokeless clouds
Shadow of industry past
Business moves on blue sky
Extremes in parallel. The thrower and the thrown. Steps to evergreen.
Who had fried egg broke
yoke of Autumn’s sunset?
Who drizzled egg white in straight lines
on sky’s plate?