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The Gingham Dream Utterance
By Paul Cameron Brown
As I watch the clouds assemble, steam-ship fashion, with funnels to
alert passersby, I realize the Romanovs tore silk & riches from
every bazaar leaving the bright spot of this evening studded with emerald marks.
A dot in the ocean is a spark upon which minnows play, their silver
bellies upturned to imitate the moon's white shawl.
I am wanting in the delights of the reef narrowly hauled from
rambunctious depths, the tiniest splashes of green, yellow, blue darting in an upturned fish's tail.
An octopus rock commands squadrons of fingerlings while the eisel
fish decorates a steeper, coral garden.
Jet black sand crowns the lagoon volcanic ages' past the innocence
of this spurting palm while mounds of pitch dark ants deposit slivers of rich eggs.
After a fashion, onyx enamours pearl and pearl ivory as cays and
atolls are swept to the wiggle of sun's dance on white sand. Eel-like
islands are only pomegranates undigested by the moon.
The amber breath of growing leaves is rich dark coffee stolen as in a smile.
Almond drink is refreshing as the tips of cloven hooves to the dried earth.
One might hesitate to watch firm nipples being given as broaches to
a king but the sandpiper is a river barge commanding slow access to the next water.
Near barely lit lamps alongside make-shift beds, a woman with olive
skin prepares her toilet.
Hatchet brown birds beseech her with brittle songs stolen from one wing.
A cathedral bowl lies overturned in the warm twilight of lovers
kneeling before the growing strength of day.
Stone stars are flattened by the glare of sun and shell encrusted
beaches bear a passing resemblance to chalices strung around an avuncular stretch of land.
Perhaps in the hunted meadow near red spined caterpillars feeding
near the larvae of the elephant hawkmoth, a cistern will open the
earth and drink as a thirsty spoon.
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