sometime a century ago when I turned ten
and morning careered into the kitchen –
the not quite eternal chariot wheel
launched sparks to splutter on the shoulders
of Nola’s square squat spice bottles
and a cinder must have lodged in my eye
for the sun cannot rise anyhere on this planet
that does not share with that shard of memory
a pleasure so intense for me I marvel
that it has not been outlawed
.
.
Advertisements
