Stolen Ornaments

The sky looked like a slate

that smiled in the crescent guise

of chalk

The moon blushed red

under its veil

Stars burnished

in the night sky

like silverware

in a collector’s alcove.

 

Clouds inlaid the cindered sky

flushed its surface

like gossamer threads

on a weeping widow’s nightgown-

both pirouetting

to the symphonies

of unsung departures.

 

I quiver on precipices

and stagger on pulpits

of ripe

ripped

and                       rippled words

that parch no more

than sodden aftertastes

of everything you left behind.

 

Even without the widowing

Even without the nightgown

I pirouette to the epistles

of a star converted you

now sewn into a baroque sky,

like sequins littered

on the hearth

of a universe

Gilt in Guilt.

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