Afternoon Verse

O'er pansied porch, steeped in song
buzzard spies the wayward moon
all round, assembled shores of fir,
                      needle shadows long,
linger on the robin's tune.

Hair strands of grey drape my eyes
as printed prayers on cotton
wander down the bleaching skies,
                     whitening like gold,
their manuscripts forgotten.

Mud flats down below lagoon
basking neath the snow caps blaze
sheltering the crabs of June,
                     feasting upon worm,
then slip 'neath clam's shell edgeways.

Clinging fast this gilded eve
grasping after wisp of sky
with spiders' silk, the sunbeams weave
                     tethers up to night,
lightly binding low to high.

Now I'm sinking into soil
I'm disarticulating
wanted to be true and loyal,
                     but time's caress of blades
has cloven all my waiting.