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Added 6 July 2000
The blue bottle of Luna
sprouts stems instead of spirits now,
brought forth, perhaps, by the enterprise
of a vivid young mind without a vase.
Leaves lie gently on a wooden frame
that clings tightly to a far away home,
empty in the twilight of all but two
strolling by empty canal boats.
This someone else's home firmly holds
to the shelter over me
and thus to the fan that chills
and the mirror opposite encompassing it all.
Invaded, All, by the odor
of the candle slow roasting this flesh.
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