Quiet agave in the desert lifts
a solitary mast (for listening). Rush
of wind, ache of rue. Sift of ash
from old volcano. Local glyphs

of weather and millennia - cuneiform
sparrow-tracks, flute-prints... you
dear dry green spine, curlicue
clay (my snail-scale home).


Tiny town of Massa Maritima
(Siena's miniature hill-neighbor)
houses festal phantasmagoria
(Lorenzetti, Maesta) -

rapt saints, apostles zone that gloze
('mid gilded violas, crowns, bouquets,
rhapsodic Faith-Hope-Charity displays)
on one small kiss (melodic honey-maze).

No comments: