AFTER WORK HOURS
“In the drawer I found a mouse nest, with its small
hoard of seeds. But also I found a pin-cushion, many-colored squares of silk
sewn together and then embroidered.”- Hanging Pictures in Nanny’s Room, Jane Kenyon
There is scarce nature here
but soft fire nags the shelves,
jutting in multi-patterned plumage
like a phoenix.
As breathtaking as Michelangelo’s windows
the mock galaxy pleads,
expecting that I’ll bow before
so many voices.
I use my pure, paper dove
as a hallmark in producing love,
numbers of lines parading themselves
like silver fountains.
Several peach teas water
a fantastic chorus of death and scholarship,
lives of salesmen and pretty thieves
forming the story altar.
My satiated otherness orders joy
to a tasty pink sunset,
after thirst fades largely forgotten
beneath gorgeous bookstore silence.
Each cover breathes number theory
and poetry through quiet rage
like slung knapsacks
and quite comparable to nothing.
Some eyes approach the stained-glass
as twisted raindrops
during their reading break but others
crack the rainbowed web.
This monotonous chapel work cries to be cuddled
so all that remains
is my stained experimentation
and a closing.