ayaladn

I’ve never seen

a baby bee,

well, maybe on TV,

or a chilly bear

bark at candlewax,

when a bucket froze,

to think of thaw

or more a swan,

than icy cloth’d

presume a moth

a January pond,

a fish-hook flown

the evening pole

as postulate,

as moonlight leant

a honeyed glance

I took a picture

on an inclination

from the tinctures

in decline a quoin’s

abbreviat’d shadow

on Venetian glass,

a capricious blue

upon a caravel,

‘tho I sent it by

horse to Ecuador

a cochlear coast

as a bored wall,

glossopharyngeal

as jealousy lists,

on the QT, yellow-

press’d telemetrics,

to a Pythoness

in bullae and boas,

a Ms q.v. afloat

a proa to Java

as autobiotic

potential, as

a stampede

over a crawl,

wherever are,

to search a sofa

remote as a coin,

to soften want

of the last drop

less friendly

loss of less on

reduction

as essential

survival of

accidence,

a tale over

the wait’s worth,

to whom, maid

concern’d, a

childe assents