French Doors

A kind and melodic
  moment

   airs  on

easing our attention

the workers plank
over the window ledge

a tread of wind
over the  lawn

         The baby animals

         arresting everybody
                                   
                                    cautiously

the playground
of the beaches

the will of
           copied
French doors

         the roundness of
          the night benches
               on TV

         you will never stop us now
                        this golem

defending
                 the darkness

around
              the displaced

the black floated
       surface
 filled with silver
     & the high bones      
                   of these faces

Slipping
  almond
     trees

over the bloody
       feet

I am be-
  escape
  ing

other wise

  a   salmon

   quick over these rules

a  white burning

 shifting

    smallest spire

of darkness

  of your heat
         & folds

          honey pushes
           of you

  you  grow
          un checked

        mock of yellow
                    cement light

              anywhere
                     a   you

      is this   instant
               more    content
            than a fiction

of  the starving  street

than a

  husband
   & wife buyer

a  hand buttoned
               clearing

strolling senses
   of this wind

a place
as bright
  as  a

        night hawk

     preparing to
                      breathe
               your body
                  finally
                 grows
                       happy
                 &  cool,

                   and  deep
              into    the
                             traffic
                    of sky & sea
                where the  day  has
                                   finally  stopped.   

(back to poetry)