For you I will chisel away the starless sand;
I will wear my hat on my foot
And my face will be fisted with straw.
I will peel the rust from your toast.
I will butter your panoplies;
I will varnish your dominions;
I will goose your superlatives;
I will roust your conferments.
I will damask and blanch
Your wine and terra-cotta.
My blush will be honeyed,
My apricots gingered,
My pomegranates bankrupt
For you I will discard rich braids
Of russet gold foil twisted
With swarthy garnets and tender amber
And cool jade minerals. I will beat them
Into cracked dust and trade them
For burnt brick and soot
And copper salt
And dried sage and sorrel
And yellow cotton string.
copyright © 2010 lcmt