left on the beach for the sky to find
like music piped into a hall of mirrors
The watery gate swinging wide open
the rainy bonsai palm trees
the light the air as yet unbruised
was silver sometimes was emerald
but from torn canvas spilling rust
revealed to us the numbers of the heart
arranged as if by chance & so we strike
another match & pour the amber slow
because it is the only dance that you
& I will ever know
