Things Undone

40 rooks of cheddar melting
               in an errant soup, best
               not spooned.
Like it were best not
               hitching with Trinity
               cross shattered
               Salt Lake streets
               stripped naked by poker.
Ill advised.

Those oats long since cloistered
               within the polished oaken casket, locked
               within the lost chamber
               the lock of which has frozen
               from crevice corrosion.

Rather, my steps loft, softly
               falling, warm bed of snow
               melting into pit of knee
               soaking denim threads
               tossed by mother many years since.

The moon of frost, draped upon black pines
               still sings to me in tongues
               I can't recall.