The cloud in search of lightning, the cloth
seeking the thunderous rip across the grain.
Gold leaf on a frame peeling away like ruin;
sorrow’s name written long across the water.
The keyhole’s outline of the beautiful one: that speck
waving, moving closer from the padlocked garden.
The cup on the table awaiting radiant downpour;
vessel poised for the tilt of the river’s skin.
[LAG-signature date=”09 27 2011″ url=”http://morningporch.com/2011/09/27/159122044″]