BAIT

“Hope is such a bait, it covers any hook” Oliver Goldsmith

Photo by Max LaRochelle on Unsplash

These words I don’t remember,
the wind rising in the sky,
your soul I poke with fortitude
sparks fly.

Coals flare into flames, my friend,
a pettiness of grief. A pettiness
in heat. Suddenly, replete.

Golden sounds are suitable,
to the army of the blind,
a case of golden sand
a wine in every mind:
crystal brooks, silken lines, silver hooks.

Glimpsing what’s new is, already, here,
I begin to mount the stairs in fear,
the past is drawing near.

Who do you trust implicitly?
Lover or scoundrel or wife? You might like
A reckoning’s on its way , that’s obvious,
A slight rearranging of the night.
A study of false documents,
textual, you may surmise,
that woman who called yesterday,
Thank God! She’s still alive.

A feeling that’s incredible
say it loud, now, if you please,
the never-ending circle…